Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Santa had planned to slip into the GMMTV lobby unnoticed—hood up, iced Americano in hand, pretending he wasn’t late again.

But fate (and chaos) had other ideas.

“Smyle, no running!”

That familiar voice made him stop mid-step. Santa blinked just in time to see a tiny blur in pastel overalls zoom across the lobby, followed by another equally chaotic blur wearing mismatched socks.

“Smyle! Neona!” Sky’s exasperated tone echoed behind them, Nani right beside him with a diaper bag that looked like it had been through war.

And just like that, Santa was face-to-face with the GMMTV celebrity duo: Neona and Smyle, age two, part-time toddlers, full-time agents of chaos.

Neona looked up at him with big eyes, clutching a half-eaten cookie.

“Uncle Santa?”

Oh no. Oh no no no.

Before he could even react, Smyle toddled up and handed him a sticker shaped like a cat. “You look sad,” the tiny one said with the kind of blunt honesty only toddlers possessed.

Santa blinked. “I—uh—thanks?”

Behind them, Nani finally caught up, panting. “Sorry, Santa, they escaped again.”

Sky, clearly one meltdown away from ascension, added, “They’ve been hyper since they found out Perth was in the building.”

At the mention of Perth’s name, Santa’s ears went pink. “He’s… yeah, inside. Shooting.”

Neona gasped. “Uncle Perth??” And before anyone could stop her, she bolted toward the studio door—Smyle trailing after her like a mini shadow.

Nani groaned. “They’re obsessed with him. I swear, those kids act like he’s some kind of cartoon character.”

Santa let out a soft laugh. “He kinda is one.”

But then he saw it—Perth emerging from the studio, crouching down as both twins launched themselves at him. The way he smiled, soft and unguarded; the way Neona squealed when Perth lifted her up with one arm; how Smyle immediately demanded “uppie” too.

Something in Santa’s chest shifted.

It was small at first—just a flicker. A weird, warm ache he couldn’t name.

He blamed it on the caffeine. Or maybe the lack of sleep. Definitely not the way Perth’s laughter sounded when he held the twins like they were made of stars.

“Are you thinking about it?” Sky muttered teasingly, catching Santa’s dazed stare. “They look cute, right?”

Santa scoffed, quickly shoving his hands into his pockets. “Cute? They’re—uh—fine. Loud. Sticky. Probably contagious.”

But when Smyle toddled back over and proudly stuck another cat sticker on Santa’s shirt before running off again, he didn’t peel it off.

He didn’t even notice the small smile tugging at his lips.

By the time filming wrapped, the GMMTV lobby looked less like a workplace and more like a toddler battleground. Neona and Smyle were sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting colorful cue cards like they were in charge of the network.

Perth was right there with them, sleeves rolled up, patiently helping Neona uncap a marker she had no business holding.

Santa stood a few feet away, pretending to scroll through his phone — but his eyes kept flicking back to the scene. Perth, smiling as Smyle giggled in his lap. Perth, saying “careful, little one” in that soft, careful voice. Perth, with warmth in his eyes he didn’t even try to hide.

It wasn’t new. Perth had always been good with kids — natural, gentle, the kind of person who could make any child laugh within minutes.

And he’d already accepted that part of his life might stay there — in borrowed moments, in other people’s laughter. Because Santa didn’t want kids.

They’d talked about it once — a serious, late-night kind of talk. Santa had been honest: he didn’t see himself as a parent, didn’t think he could be one. Perth had smiled then, kissed his forehead, and said it was okay. That what he wanted most was him, not a family on paper.

And he meant it. He still meant it.

So now, watching Neona and Smyle climb all over Perth like he was their favorite jungle gym, Santa felt that same old tug in his chest — but with something new creeping in: guilt, maybe. Or longing. Or something he didn’t want to name.

“Santa,” Sky called out from the corner, amused. “You’re staring again.”

“I’m supervising,” Santa said flatly.

“Sure,” Nani teased. “Supervising what, exactly? Perth’s childcare skills?”

Santa rolled his eyes. “He’s—he’s just good with kids. Always has been.”

Perth turned around at that, smiling softly. “They’re easy to like,” he said. “You just have to listen to them.”

Then, quieter — almost like he didn’t mean for Santa to hear —

“I’m happy like this. It’s enough.”

That should’ve made Santa feel relieved.

Instead, it just made his chest hurt.

Smyle waddled up to him then, holding a sticker. “Uncle Santa,” he said proudly, sticking it right onto Santa’s hoodie. “Now you part of us.”

Santa froze. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a small, defeated smile.

“Yeah, kid,” he muttered. “Guess I am.”

The twins had finally been wrangled out of the building — Sky and Nani promising to text photos of “Uncle Perth and Uncle Santa’s new fan club.”

The drive home was quiet. Not awkward quiet — just that comfortable kind where the radio hums low and the world feels half-asleep.

Santa sat in the passenger seat, absentmindedly peeling the corner of a cartoon sticker still stuck to his sleeve — Smyle’s gift. Perth glanced over once, then quickly looked away.

That small, domestic calm was dangerous. It made Santa think. And thinking was the last thing he wanted right now.

By the time they got home, Perth had kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the couch. Santa followed, sitting beside him but not too close — like he needed a buffer of air to handle whatever was stuck in his throat.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Perth hummed without opening his eyes. “Hm?”

Santa hesitated. “Do you… ever think about it?”

Perth opened one eye. “Think about what?”

Santa exhaled. “Kids.”

That woke him right up. Perth turned his head, studying him for a moment — not surprised, just careful.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “I used to.”

Santa’s stomach twisted. “Used to?”

Perth nodded, smile small but genuine. “I used to think I’d be a dad someday. I like kids. I still do. But then I met you.”

Santa blinked. “That’s—”

Perth reached over, brushing his thumb along Santa’s hand — not to comfort, just to ground.

“And when you told me you didn’t want that life, I got it. I respect it. I respect you.”

Santa looked away, jaw tight. “You shouldn’t have to give something up for me.”

Perth shook his head. “I didn’t. I just… realized wanting you felt bigger than wanting anything else.”

Silence stretched between them — soft, but full. The kind that says everything words can’t.

Santa swallowed hard, guilt and tenderness mixing into something too big for his chest. He didn’t know how to say thank you without sounding small, so he just whispered,

“You always make it sound so easy.”

Perth smiled faintly. “It’s not easy. It’s just worth it.”

Santa’s throat burned. And for the first time, the idea of “not wanting kids” didn’t feel like certainty anymore — it felt like fear.

Chapter Text

Sky was panicking.

Nani was panicking louder.

“Last minute event!” Sky said, pacing in circles near the van. “We can’t bring the twins, the schedule’s packed, and they won’t stop crying if we leave them with staff again!”

Neona, clinging to Nani’s leg, sniffled. Smyle looked one meltdown away from starting a toddler revolution.

Santa was half-listening, scrolling on his phone. Perth, however, had that look — the one that meant he was about to volunteer for something absolutely insane.

“I can watch them,” Perth said suddenly.

All heads turned.

“You—what?” Santa blurted.

Perth shrugged, casual as ever. “I’ve got the day off. They like me. It’ll be fun.”

Sky’s eyes widened like he’d just been handed divine salvation. “Are you serious? Perth, I love you.”

Nani was already handing over a diaper bag like it was a nuclear handoff. “Snacks inside, bottles labeled, emergency contact list in front pocket—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Santa interrupted, hands up. “You’re just gonna—what—watch two toddlers for the entire day?”

Perth smiled, kneeling down to the twins’ height. “If they promise not to destroy the apartment, yeah.”

Neona beamed. “Yayy Uncle Perth’s house!”

Smyle nodded with full toddler determination. “We behave!”

Santa stared like he’d just witnessed a crime scene forming.

But within twenty minutes, Sky and Nani were gone, and Perth was standing in their living room with two excited two-year-olds and a mountain of tiny pink luggage.

Santa hadn’t planned to stay. He really hadn’t. He told himself he was just “making sure Perth survived the first hour.”

Yet somehow, he ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor, juice box in hand, while Smyle built a block tower on his knee.

Perth sat across from him, patiently braiding Neona’s hair — terribly, but she didn’t care. The sight was almost unfairly wholesome.

“You’re good at this,” Santa muttered, trying to sound unimpressed.

Perth looked up, grinning. “I’ve had practice with my nieces.”

Smyle suddenly yelled, “Uncle Santa, look!” and threw a toy car that missed his face by an inch.

Santa blinked. “Yup. Natural born chaos.”

Perth laughed — that warm, soft laugh again — and Santa’s chest ached in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Because watching Perth like that — calm, patient, full of love — it didn’t look like a man who used to want kids.

It looked like someone who still did.

And Santa didn’t know what to do with that.

He just sat there quietly, sipping juice from a cartoon straw, while his heart whispered, maybe you do too.

It started as a normal afternoon.

Neona and Smyle had declared themselves “helpers,” which in toddler language meant professional mess makers with good intentions.

Perth was in the kitchen making pancakes shaped vaguely like animals. Santa sat on the couch, pretending not to watch, scrolling on his phone like the picture of indifference.

Neona toddled over, dragging a blanket that trailed half the living room.

“Uncle Santa, we make you pretty!”

Santa blinked. “That sounds suspicious.”

Smyle climbed up beside him, holding two stickers and a hair clip shaped like a bunny. “Hold still,” he commanded seriously.

Perth peeked from the kitchen. “Careful, generals. Uncle Santa doesn’t like chaos.”

“Uncle Santa likes us!” Neona declared proudly.

Santa froze. “I—do not—well, maybe a little—okay, don’t quote me on that.”

But it was too late.

He was being decorated. Stickered. Tucked under a blanket. And somewhere in the middle of it, Santa realized he was adjusting Neona’s ponytail so it wouldn’t pull too tight, gently wiping juice from Smyle’s chin, and telling them not to run barefoot near the coffee table.

He caught himself mid-sentence —

“Smyle, sweetheart, careful with that—”

He stopped.

The twins didn’t notice, but Perth did.

From the kitchen, Perth leaned against the counter, smiling quietly — not teasing, just watching. The same kind of look he gave when he saw sunlight hit Santa’s hair or when Santa fell asleep mid-movie.

Neona plopped a plush toy into Santa’s lap. “Uncle Santa, baby sleeping!”

Santa automatically started patting its back, murmuring, “Shh, don’t wake the baby.”

And that’s when it hit him.

He’d just mothered a stuffed rabbit.

Perth snorted softly. “You’re doing great, mama bear.”

Santa shot him a glare, cheeks warm. “Say that again and you’re sleeping on the couch.”

But when Neona climbed into his lap and Smyle rested against his shoulder, Santa didn’t move. He just sighed, pretending to be annoyed, though his arms instinctively wrapped around them.

Maybe this wasn’t as scary as he thought.

Maybe the idea of caring — of being someone’s safe place — wasn’t as far from him as he’d believed.

Perth watched them from the doorway, heart full and quiet. He didn’t say it out loud, but he didn’t need to.

Santa was falling — not just for him, but for the idea he’d once sworn he didn’t want.

Dinner had been a full-scale toddler negotiation.

Smyle refused vegetables unless Perth turned them into “tiny dinosaurs,” and Neona insisted her rice be shaped like a heart. Perth handled it all with the patience of a saint — calm, smiling, somehow making it look easy.

Santa sat at the table, allegedly “supervising,” but really just… watching.

Every time Perth laughed softly when Neona smeared sauce on his cheek, something in Santa’s chest twisted. The kind of twist that made him look away too fast.

After dinner, the twins demanded a bedtime story. Perth didn’t even flinch — just scooped Smyle up with one arm, grabbed a picture book with the other, and settled onto the couch.

Neona climbed onto his lap, clutching her bunny plush. Perth read in a soft voice, full of rhythm and care, the kind that made the room feel like a lullaby.

Santa leaned against the doorway, arms crossed — not to block, but to keep his heart from spilling out.

When Perth reached the last page and whispered,

“And they lived happily ever after,”

both twins were already half-asleep, heads tucked under his chin.

He sat there for a while, just breathing with them, rubbing gentle circles on their backs until their little hands went limp.

Santa should’ve gone to help. Should’ve said something teasing. Should’ve done anything except stand there like his chest had been cracked open.

Because watching Perth like that — gentle, safe, glowing with the quiet kind of love he always carried — it hit him harder than anything else ever could.

He’d seen Perth onstage, on camera, in love, in anger. But this? This was different.

This was the version of Perth that melted every wall he’d ever built.

When Perth finally looked up and caught him staring, Santa blinked hard and muttered,

“They’re asleep?”

Perth nodded, smiling softly. “Out like lights.”

Santa cleared his throat. “Good. You, uh… handled that pretty well.”

“Thanks,” Perth said lightly. “Didn’t think you’d stay the whole time.”

“I wasn’t— I mean, someone had to make sure you didn’t get buried under baby blankets.”

Perth chuckled quietly and turned back to look at the twins, sleeping soundly on the couch. “They’re sweet, huh?”

Santa hesitated. His voice dropped.

“Yeah. They are.”

He’d never admit it — not to Perth, not yet — but his heart felt like warm honey, slow and soft, spilling through every defense he had.

Perth reached over, brushing his fingers over Santa’s wrist — gentle, almost teasing.

“You’re staring again.”

Santa rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

But the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

And as Perth leaned back, smiling to himself, Santa knew he was in trouble.

Because hearts don’t ask for permission before they change.

Morning crept in too soon.

The apartment was scattered with tiny socks, half-eaten cookies, and the faint smell of strawberry shampoo.

Neona was clinging to Perth’s hoodie like her life depended on it, while Smyle refused to take off the blanket he’d decided was his “cape.”

Sky and Nani arrived looking both grateful and guilty.

“We owe you everything,” Sky said, eyeing the living room chaos. “They usually stage a coup by hour three.”

Perth laughed, brushing a crumb off his sleeve. “They were angels. Mostly.”

“Mostly,” Santa muttered, picking up a toy truck from under the couch.

Neona reached out for Perth. “Uncle Perth come with us!”

Perth smiled softly, crouching down to her level. “I can’t today, babygirl. You have to go home with your Daddy and Mama, okay?”

Her bottom lip trembled, and Perth quickly kissed her forehead before lifting her into Sky’s arms. Smyle was next — half-asleep, tiny fingers still gripping Perth’s shirt until the very last second.

Santa stood by the door, watching Perth buckle the twins carefully into their car seats — double-checking straps, tucking blankets, fixing Smyle’s crooked hat. It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did.

Nani came to stand beside him, voice low and warm. “He’s really good with them, huh?”

Santa forced a small smile. “Yeah. He is.”

Nani chuckled softly. “The twins adore him. Neona keeps saying she wants a ‘Papa Perth.’”

Santa’s laugh was short, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Can’t blame her.”

Nani glanced at him, picking up the tone immediately. “You okay?”

Santa hesitated. He wanted to lie — to make a joke, to deflect — but his chest felt too heavy for that.

He watched Perth close the car door gently, tapping the window when Neona waved goodbye. His expression — that quiet mix of warmth and ache — made Santa’s stomach twist.

He swallowed hard. “He’d make a really good dad,” Santa murmured, almost to himself.

Nani’s smile softened. “Yeah. He really would.”

The guilt hit then — sharp, sudden, relentless.

Because Perth wasn’t a dad. Not because he couldn’t be, but because he’d chosen Santa instead.

And Santa had let him.

He exhaled, voice breaking just slightly.

“He gave that up for me.”

Nani looked at him for a long moment, gentle but honest. “He didn’t give it up. He made a choice. Don’t punish yourself for being loved, Santa.”

Santa tried to nod, but the lump in his throat made it hard. Perth was walking back toward him now, smiling like nothing hurt — like his heart hadn’t just been left buckling two car seats into a future he’d never have.

When Perth reached him, Santa managed a shaky grin. “They, uh… really love you.”

Perth shrugged lightly. “They’re easy to love.”

And Santa just stared at him for a second too long — at the man who made everything look so simple, even sacrifice.

“Yeah,” Santa said softly, “you really are.”

Chapter Text

The apartment felt too quiet after the twins left. No giggles. No tiny footsteps. No stray toy cars underfoot. Just silence—and the faint hum of the washing machine Perth had started before they’d even said goodbye.

Santa stood in the middle of the living room, still half in a daze. The couch was a mess of tiny blankets and crumbs, but he didn’t move to clean it up yet. He could still hear Neona’s sleepy “Goodnight, Uncle Santa,” echoing in his head.

Perth emerged from the hallway, hair slightly mussed, sleeves rolled up. “They’re finally asleep in the car before Sky even left the parking lot,” he said with a tired smile. “Record timing.”

Santa managed a small laugh. “You wore them out.”

“I wore me out,” Perth corrected, stretching with a soft groan. “They’re adorable, but I forgot toddlers operate entirely on chaos and sugar.”

Santa smirked, trying to play it cool. “You did good, though. You—uh—you looked like a pro.”

Perth blinked at him. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not,” Santa said quickly. “Just… impressed, I guess.”

Perth smiled, walking over to tidy up a few toys, humming quietly under his breath. And something about the scene—that small, domestic calm—hit Santa like a slow sunrise.

He watched Perth pick up a tiny pink hairclip that Neona left behind, turning it over in his palm with a soft smile. The sight made something ache deep in Santa’s chest.

Because suddenly, the thought slipped in before he could stop it:

What if there was a little one with his eyes and Perth’s smile?

He froze.

It was ridiculous. It was everything he said he didn’t want. He’d spent years convinced he’d be a terrible parent—that he didn’t have the patience, or the warmth, or whatever mysterious parental instinct everyone else seemed to be born with.

But then he pictured it—Perth’s hands carefully tying tiny shoelaces, his soft laugh when a kid did something ridiculous, the way he’d say “hey, it’s okay, daddy got you.”

And suddenly… it didn’t feel so terrifying.

It felt possible.

Perth looked up, catching him staring again. “What?”

Santa blinked, scrambling for an excuse. “Nothing. Just… thinking.”

Perth tilted his head, eyes soft. “That sounds dangerous.”

Santa chuckled weakly. “Yeah. Maybe it is.”

He looked away, but the thought wouldn’t leave.

Maybe he’d been afraid of the wrong thing all this time.

Maybe it wasn’t parenthood that scared him—it was the idea of doing it alone.

But with Perth…

With Perth, it didn’t feel like losing himself. It felt like growing into something new.

He didn’t say any of that out loud. Not yet. But later that night, when Perth fell asleep beside him, Santa lay awake, tracing circles on his wrist, whispering to the dark—

“Maybe I could do it. Maybe… with you, I could.”

And for the first time, the thought didn’t make him panic.

It made him smile.

The next day, Santa found himself at the GMMTV café, nursing a lukewarm latte he’d barely touched. He’d come to drop off a few things Perth forgot on set — or that’s what he told himself. In reality, his brain hadn’t stopped spinning since last night.

As luck would have it, Nani was already there — hoodie, sunglasses, and the unmistakable aura of a man running on zero hours of sleep.

When he spotted Santa, he waved him over with a grin. “If it isn’t Uncle Santa, hero of the babysitting saga.”

Santa groaned, sliding into the seat across from him. “Please don’t start. I’m still finding stickers in my clothes.”

Nani laughed. “Neona calls you ‘her sassy uncle’ now. Congratulations, you’re family.”

“Great,” Santa muttered, but his lips twitched.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping coffee and people-watching through the café’s glass wall. Eventually, Santa cleared his throat, eyes still fixed on his cup.

“Can I ask you something?”

Nani raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Sounds serious.”

Santa hesitated. “What’s it… like? Being a parent.”

That got Nani’s full attention. He set down his drink slowly, studying Santa’s face. “You okay?”

Santa shrugged, playing it off. “Yeah. Just curious. You and Sky make it look easy.”

Nani snorted. “Oh, trust me, it’s not easy. We just love them enough to forget how exhausting it is.”

He leaned back, thinking. “It’s chaos, honestly. You lose sleep, you lose your schedule, you lose your sense of peace—but somehow, it’s the best kind of mess you’ll ever have. You get to watch these tiny humans grow up and realize you’re part of why they smile like that.”

Santa listened quietly, heart thudding.

Nani gave him a knowing look. “Why the sudden interest? Don’t tell me the twins converted you.”

Santa huffed a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just… thinking.”

“About Perth?”

Santa didn’t answer, but the silence said enough.

Nani’s expression softened. “You’re scared.”

Santa nodded slowly. “Yeah. I always thought I wasn’t made for that kind of responsibility. But watching Perth with your kids—seeing how natural he is—it made me think maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. If it was with him.”

Nani smiled, that warm, older-brother kind of smile. “Then that’s the answer, isn’t it? It’s not about being ready. No one ever is. It’s about who you’re doing it with.”

Santa looked down, fiddling with his coffee sleeve. “He already gave up that dream for me. I don’t even know how to bring it up.”

“Just be honest,” Nani said simply. “You don’t need a big speech. Just tell him what changed.”

Santa sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Nani replied. “But it’s worth it.”

Santa stared at his reflection in the coffee cup for a moment, feeling something warm settle in his chest — a quiet certainty.

Maybe it was time to stop running from the future.

Then Santa leaned forward, voice softer now. “Can I ask… about the pregnancy? Like, how was it? For you.”

Nani blinked, then gave a small, amused smile. “Wow, you’re really doing research, huh?”

Santa groaned, slumping into his chair. “I’m not researching, I’m just—curious.”

“Curious,” Nani repeated, clearly teasing but gentle about it. “Okay, fine.”

He glanced out the window, a soft look crossing his face as if he was watching a memory instead of the street. “Honestly? I was lucky. I had a really amazing journey.”

Santa tilted his head. “Lucky? How?”

“Because of Sky,” Nani said simply, smiling like his whole world was wrapped in that name. “He made it easy to love every part of it — even the hard stuff. The mood swings, the cravings, the doctor visits. He never made me feel like a burden. Every time I panicked, he just… held me and said, ‘We’re doing this together.’”

Santa stayed quiet, absorbing that. The warmth in Nani’s voice hit somewhere deep in his chest.

“He was there for everything,” Nani continued, eyes soft. “He learned how to cook things I could keep down. He sang to the twins before they were even born. And when I couldn’t sleep, he’d stay up and tell me stories until I laughed myself tired.”

Nani chuckled to himself. “It wasn’t perfect, but it felt like we were on the same side, you know? Like it wasn’t me going through it — it was us.”

Santa’s throat tightened a little. “That sounds… really nice.”

“It was,” Nani said, leaning back in his chair. “Scary, exhausting, but beautiful. Having Sky made it something I’ll never regret.”

Santa nodded slowly, trying to look casual, but his mind was spiraling.

If Perth was there… would it be like that for us too?

He imagined Perth rubbing circles on his back when anxiety hit, teasing him just enough to make him laugh. The way Perth would say, “You’re not alone, okay?” and mean it with his whole heart.

For a split second, the idea didn’t scare him anymore. It felt warm. Real.

Nani noticed the faraway look in his eyes and smiled knowingly. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Santa blinked, caught. “…Maybe.”

Nani chuckled. “You don’t have to decide anything today. But if it’s Perth… you’ll be fine. He’s got that ‘born-to-be-a-dad’ gene.”

Santa laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Yeah. I know. He really does.”

And for the first time, Santa didn’t deny it.

He just sat there, staring into his coffee, a tiny smile tugging at his lips—

because for once, the thought of having a family with Perth didn’t feel impossible.

It felt right.

The apartment lights were dim, the kind of warm orange glow that made everything feel softer. Perth had gone to shower, humming something under his breath, and Santa sat alone on the couch — the same spot where Neona had fallen asleep just two nights ago, tiny fingers gripping his shirt.

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

And that’s when it hit him again.

He’d been trying to shake it off all day — the way Nani’s words had sunk under his skin, the way “we’re doing this together” kept replaying in his head like a song he couldn’t stop humming.

Santa sighed and leaned back, eyes tracing the ceiling. He thought about Perth.

About how Perth always knew when he was tired — not because he said it, but because he’d just quietly drape a blanket over him and start rubbing small circles on his back until he fell asleep.

About how Perth would text him reminders to eat when he was working late.

About how Perth never once made him feel like too much, even on his worst days.

Perth had this way of loving him that made Santa feel safe — completely, stupidly safe.

He’d always brushed it off as “that’s just how Perth is,” but now… he couldn’t stop wondering what that love would look like if it was given to someone small.

Someone theirs.

He pictured Perth teaching a kid how to tie their shoes, kneeling down and laughing when they got it wrong.

Perth packing snacks in a cartoon lunchbox and sneaking in a sticky note that said, “Have a good day, mini-me.”

Perth staying up late to check for monsters under the bed — dramatic, gentle, endlessly patient.

And the image just hurt.

Because he realized he’d taken that dream away from him.

Santa pressed a hand to his chest, feeling that quiet ache crawl up his throat. He’d been so sure before — that he didn’t want kids, that he wasn’t cut out for it. But now…

Now, all he could think was how much Perth deserved to be someone’s dad.

How much love Perth had to give — all five love languages wrapped into one person. Words, touch, time, service, gifts… Perth gave them all, every single day, without asking for anything back.

And maybe… maybe Santa did want that.

Not just because Perth deserved it — but because he wanted to see it. To live it.

The thought made his chest tight, his eyes sting.

He’d never pictured himself as someone’s parent. Never thought he could be soft enough, patient enough, good enough.

But if it was with Perth — maybe he could learn. Maybe he already was.

He glanced toward the bathroom where the sound of running water had stopped. A second later, Perth’s voice called out, light and teasing:

“Babe, did you eat the last cookie again?”

Santa smiled — really smiled. “Yeah. Sue me.”

Perth laughed from inside, warm and familiar.

And Santa thought — how could I ever be scared of building something with you?

He whispered into the quiet,

“Maybe… maybe I was wrong.”

And for the first time, the idea of a future — one filled with laughter, baby toys, and Perth’s sleepy morning kisses — didn’t feel like a fantasy.

It felt like a possibility.

The night was quiet except for the low hum of the city outside their window. Perth was asleep, tangled in the sheets, his face soft and peaceful in the dark.

Santa lay beside him wide awake, a thousand thoughts moving through his head.

For so long, he’d told himself he wasn’t meant for that kind of life — the one with cribs and lullabies and tiny hands reaching for him. He’d said it so many times it became truth. The suppressants were just part of that: control, predictability, safety.

But now… it didn’t feel like safety anymore. It felt like avoidance.

He thought of Perth feeding Neona and Smyle, his voice low and patient as he coaxed them to finish their meal. The way Perth laughed when Smyle tried to feed him instead. The gentleness, the ease, the love.

Santa pressed a hand against his chest, right over the ache that had been growing there for days.

He realized it wasn’t fear anymore — it was want.

Not because of obligation, not because he was supposed to — but because somewhere along the way, the idea of sharing something that pure with Perth had stopped being terrifying.

He got up quietly, padding over to his drawer where his birth control are. He stared at them for a long moment. Then, without hesitation, he closed the drawer. "No more," he whispers.

No dramatic pause. Just a decision.

A quiet, steady choice to stop running from something that might actually make him happy.

He looked back at Perth, sleeping soundly, and felt a soft smile tug at his lips.

“If it happens,” he whispered, voice barely a breath, “then it happens.”

He slipped back under the covers, curling close until he could feel Perth’s heartbeat against his skin.

For the first time, Santa didn’t need to control what came next.

He just let himself feel it — the peace, the possibility, the want.

Chapter Text

Perth found Santa sitting on the balcony that night, city lights flickering across his face. A mug of untouched tea sat beside him, steam curling into the cool air.

“You okay?” Perth asked gently, sliding the glass door open.

Santa nodded, though he looked miles away. “Yeah… just thinking.”

Perth joined him, sitting close enough that their shoulders brushed. For a moment, they just listened to the distant hum of traffic below.

Then Santa spoke, voice quiet but steady.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Perth turned, instantly alert. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Santa said, giving a small laugh. “Actually, it’s kind of the opposite.”

He paused, searching for words. “You know how I’ve always said I didn’t want kids? That it wasn’t for me?”

Perth nodded carefully. “Yeah. And I told you I understood.”

Santa exhaled, eyes softening. “I know. And I meant it when I said I was grateful for that. You never pushed, you just… accepted me.”

Perth smiled faintly. “That’s what love is, right?”

Santa looked at him for a long moment—really looked. Then he said it, quietly but firmly.

“But I think I changed my mind.”

Perth blinked, startled. “You… what?”

Santa’s laugh was small, nervous. “I don’t know when it happened. Maybe watching you with Neona and Smyle. Maybe seeing how gentle you are with everyone. Or maybe it’s just… you. I realized the idea doesn’t scare me anymore.”

Perth was silent, stunned.

Santa’s gaze dropped to his hands. “I used to think being a parent would ruin me. But then I saw how much love you have to give, and I realized—if it’s with you, it wouldn’t ruin me at all. It would make me better.”

Santa woke before dawn, drenched in warmth that didn’t belong to the morning. His body felt too alive, his pulse quick, like something inside him had been quietly waiting for this exact hour to ignite. The sheets clung to his skin, and his breath came out shaky. Without thinking, he rolled toward Perth — drawn to him the way a moth chases light.

“Perth,” he whispered, voice rough, “it’s starting.”

That was all it took. Perth, half-asleep and scrolling through his phone, jolted upright so fast the phone flew out of his hand and clattered on the floor. “Starting… like now starting?”

Santa nodded, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. The air in the room seemed to thicken around them. Perth could smell it — that faint, dizzying sweetness radiating off Santa like sugar melting in heat. He tried to tell himself to calm down, to be logical, to follow the plan they’d made — but logic had officially left the building.

He moved quickly anyway. Because that’s what you do when someone you love is unraveling — you try to keep the world steady. He turned on the fan, dimmed the lights, fetched a glass of water. He even fluffed the blanket into something that could pass as a “heat nest,” though he had no clue what he was doing.

Santa watched him through half-lidded eyes, lips curving into something between fondness and mischief. He was wearing one of Perth’s oversized shirts, and it did absolutely nothing to hide the way his skin glowed warm under the low light.

“You said you’d take care of me,” he murmured.

Perth stopped mid-movement, hand still holding the water bottle. “I am taking care of you,” he said, though it came out sounding a little too soft.

Santa tilted his head, that small smile turning almost shy. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

It was like watching a match fall into a puddle of gasoline — slow, inevitable, and completely unstoppable. One second, they were on opposite sides of the bed; the next, the air between them was thick with something electric.

Santa reached for him first, fingers curling into the fabric of Perth’s shirt, dragging him down until their foreheads touched. The heat of him seeped into Perth’s skin, and the rest of the world dissolved.

Perth had always thought of himself as self-controlled — patient, deliberate, responsible. But whatever was running through Santa’s scent right now made patience feel like a foreign word. His pulse synced to Santa’s, fast and frantic, and every breath tangled into the next until he couldn’t tell whose was whose.

“Breathe,” he whispered against Santa’s lips.

“I can’t,” Santa breathed back, and it wasn’t an exaggeration — it was truth, trembling and real.

After that, there were no more words. Just the weight of years of wanting, the sound of hearts beating too fast, the kind of closeness that erases lines and replaces them with something new.

Time blurred. The night stretched, broke, and folded over itself until the world finally went quiet again.

When dawn crept through the curtains, they were still tangled together, the air cool now but their skin warm. Perth didn’t move for a long time. He just lay there, listening to Santa’s breathing — soft, steady, real.

Santa blinked up at him with sleepy eyes and whispered, “Do you think we did it?”

Perth smiled, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. “If we didn’t,” he murmured, “we’ll try again. Ten more times if we have to.”

Santa let out a tired laugh that melted into a yawn. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Perth said, pressing a kiss to his temple, “but I’m yours.”

Santa hummed, eyes closing again as he drifted back to sleep, a faint smile still on his lips.

And Perth lay there, staring at the ceiling, already thinking about everything that came next — the what-ifs, the possibilities, the terrifying, beautiful future that suddenly felt a little closer than it did yesterday.

A month slipped by in quiet anticipation. Every morning, Perth would wake before Santa, watch him breathe, and wonder if something had changed overnight — if the universe had decided that this was the day it would bless them.

Santa would laugh it off, of course. “You’re worse than my alarm clock,” he’d tease, ruffling Perth’s hair, pretending he didn’t notice the tiny hope glittering behind every look.

But under all that teasing, there was a current of longing neither could shake. They’d been careful — tracking, resting, trying again when the timing seemed right. Perth had memorized the schedule like a science project; Santa had just gone along with it, half amused, half nervous.

Now, thirty days later, they sat on the bathroom floor, side by side, staring at the little white stick resting on the counter.

Neither spoke. The timer on Perth’s phone buzzed softly, breaking the silence.

Santa swallowed, reaching for the test. “Ready?”

Perth nodded, though his throat felt tight.

Santa turned it over. His face fell just slightly — not dramatic, just a flicker, like a candle dimming in wind.

Negative.

Perth’s stomach sank. He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he let it out. “Hey,” he said quietly, “it’s okay. We’ll just—try again.”

Santa set the test down carefully, like it was made of glass. He nodded, biting his lip. “Yeah. I know. Just… I thought maybe this time.”

Perth reached out, cupping his cheek, forcing him to look up. “It doesn’t mean we failed.”

“I know.” Santa tried to smile. “Still kinda sucks, though.”

“Yeah,” Perth admitted. “It really does.”

They stayed like that for a while, pressed together on the cold tile, the quiet hum of the fan filling the space. Perth wrapped an arm around him, drawing him in until Santa’s head rested on his shoulder.

“Next month,” Perth whispered, kissing the crown of his head. “Next month could be it.”

Santa’s voice came out soft, almost sleepy. “You really believe that?”

Perth smiled against his hair. “I have to. Because I believe in you. In us.”

Santa laughed weakly. “You’re such a sap.”

“Yeah,” Perth said, squeezing him tighter. “But I’m your sap.”

And even though disappointment lingered like a shadow, there was something steady beneath it — a quiet, stubborn hope that refused to burn out. Because love like theirs didn’t end with one test. It kept going. It kept trying.

By the time the second month rolled around, their apartment had become part nursery, part science lab. Santa had sticky notes everywhere — reminders, apps, temperature charts, little doodles of baby bottles and stars. Perth joked that he needed a degree just to keep up with all the “methods.”

Santa had read every article, joined every forum, and started tracking everything. The poor guy even changed his diet — no caffeine, extra supplements, endless cups of herbal tea that smelled like boiled grass.

Perth had teased him at first. “You’re treating this like a school project,” he’d said one morning as Santa meticulously recorded his temperature on a chart.

Santa just smiled, that stubborn sparkle in his eyes. “If effort counts for anything, we’re passing with honors.”

And truthfully, Perth admired it — the determination, the quiet fire in Santa’s heart. But sometimes, in the middle of the night, when Santa fell asleep mid-research with his phone glowing softly beside him, Perth would just watch him and feel this ache — part love, part worry.

He wanted this, too. But he also wanted Santa to be okay.

When the second month came to an end, the hope in the air was heavier — more fragile. Perth came home early that evening to find Santa already sitting on the edge of the bed, the familiar white test clutched in his hands.

He looked up when Perth entered, eyes already glistening, even before he spoke. “I checked.”

Perth’s heart dropped. “And?”

Santa didn’t answer right away. He just turned the test over in his palm, staring at the single line like it had betrayed him. “Still negative.”

Perth crossed the room and dropped to his knees in front of him. “Hey,” he whispered, taking the test gently from Santa’s hand. “Look at me.”

Santa tried to blink back the tears, but they fell anyway — quiet, embarrassed ones. “I did everything right this time,” he said, voice cracking. “The vitamins, the timing, the—everything. I thought maybe if I worked harder…”

Perth caught his hands before the sentence could finish. “Baby, this isn’t something you can force. It’s not your fault.”

Santa shook his head. “Then whose is it?”

“Neither of us,” Perth said firmly. “It’s just… not time yet.”

For a moment, all Santa could do was sit there — shoulders shaking, breath uneven. And Perth didn’t try to fix it. He just pulled him into his arms, held him tight, let him cry it out.

After a long silence, Santa mumbled against his chest, “You’re not… disappointed?”

Perth exhaled slowly, resting his chin on top of Santa’s head. “Of course I’m disappointed. But not in you. Never in you.”

That made Santa laugh, small and watery. “You always know what to say.”

“Yeah,” Perth said softly. “Because I mean it.”

They stayed that way until the sun went down — two silhouettes tangled in a room filled with dreams and patience. And when Santa finally looked up, eyes tired but steadier, Perth smiled and kissed his forehead.

“Let’s take a break,” he said gently. “Just us, no tests, no stress. We’ll try again when you’re ready.”

Santa hesitated. “You’re sure?”

Perth nodded. “I want this to happen with love, not pressure.”

Santa leaned in, pressing his forehead to his. “Okay,” he whispered. “Just us. For now.”

Outside, the city hummed quietly, and for the first time in weeks, they both let themselves breathe — no clocks, no charts, no lines to wait for. Just the sound of hearts that still believed in someday.

It was late evening when Santa finally showed up at the GMMTV building.

Nani was still there, slouched on a couch with a script in hand, half-reading and half-dozing. When he saw Santa walk in, his sleepy grin vanished instantly.

“You okay?” Nani asked, sitting up.

Santa shrugged, the kind of shrug that carried too much weight. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.”

“Sit,” Nani said simply, patting the seat beside him.

Santa dropped down beside him, elbows on his knees. For a minute, he just stared at the floor before finally saying, “It’s stupid.”

“Try me.”

Santa exhaled hard, his voice quieter. “You remember how I used to be? Always saying I didn’t want kids, that I couldn’t picture it, that it wasn’t for me?”

“Yeah,” Nani said gently. “You were loud about it.”

Santa huffed a humorless laugh. “Right? And now here I am — the one who can’t stop thinking about it. I want it so bad it’s pathetic. And the universe just… laughs. Like it’s saying, ‘Oh, now you want it? Too bad.’”

Nani leaned back, watching him carefully. “Santa—”

“No, seriously,” Santa went on, voice shaking a little now. “It’s like my body’s mocking me. Every time I hope, it reminds me that wanting something doesn’t mean you deserve it.”

Nani’s expression softened. “You don’t actually believe that.”

Santa rubbed his eyes, the fight gone from his tone. “Some days I don’t. Some days I do.”

The silence between them hung heavy for a moment — comfortable but sad.

Finally, Nani said, “You know what I think? The universe isn’t punishing you. It’s just slow. It likes to take its time giving good people what they want.”

Santa scoffed, but his lip trembled slightly. “You sound like Sky.”

“Good. He’s smarter than me,” Nani said with a small grin. “Look… I watched you and Perth these past few months. You’re doing everything right. You’re already building the kind of love a kid would be lucky to walk into. Maybe that’s what this is — time to make room for that.”

Santa was quiet, staring at his hands again. Then, almost inaudible, he said, “I’m scared I’ve waited too long.”

Nani shook his head. “You’re right on time, Santa. The universe just doesn’t do express shipping.”

That made Santa laugh through his tears — small, but real.

Nani smiled. “See? That’s better. You can’t control everything, but you can keep showing up. And you’ve never been the type to quit.”

Santa nodded, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Yeah… showing up. I can do that.”

He leaned back, letting out a long sigh. “Thanks, Nani.”

Nani grinned, bumping his shoulder. “Anytime. Just remember to tell me first when it finally happens, yeah? I want bragging rights.”

Santa rolled his eyes, smiling faintly. “You’ll be impossible.”

“That’s the goal.”

And for the first time in weeks, Santa felt a little lighter — still aching, still unsure, but not quite so alone.

Chapter Text

The break had started as a mutual promise — rest, reset, breathe.

But for Santa, “rest” had quickly turned into “work.”

He filled his schedule like a man trying to outrun his own thoughts.

Photoshoots, rehearsals, endorsement meetings — if there was an hour free, he made sure to fill it.

It was easier to chase exhaustion than to sit still with disappointment.

Perth noticed, of course.

He didn’t say anything at first, just watched Santa move through days like a ghost in expensive clothes — smiling when needed, laughing on cue, but gone the second the cameras turned off.

One night, while Santa was finishing up a late script read, Perth leaned against the doorway.

“You’ve been working a lot lately,” he said.

Santa didn’t look up. “Keeping busy helps.”

“I can tell,” Perth replied. “You’ve been so busy you didn’t notice I’ve been stealing your hoodie collection.”

Santa glanced up, finally smiling. “I thought they were shrinking in the wash.”

Perth grinned. “Nope. Just me hoarding them like trophies.”

That got a real laugh out of Santa — small, but real. Perth stepped closer, eyes soft.

“You need a break, Baby A real one. Not a ten-minute nap on the couch between schedules.”

“I can’t,” Santa said automatically. “I have too much—”

Perth raised an eyebrow. “Already cleared your next week.”

Santa blinked. “You what?”

“Talked to your manager,” Perth said, handing him a neatly folded envelope. “He’s actually thrilled you’re not working yourself into a stress coma.”

Santa narrowed his eyes suspiciously before opening the envelope.

Two plane tickets.

Tokyo.

Departure: two days from now.

“…You’re kidding.”

Perth smiled. “Nope. You said once you wanted to see the cherry blossoms, remember?”

Santa stared at the tickets like they might vanish if he blinked too hard. “Perth, you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” Perth stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair from Santa’s face. “We both needed this. Just us, no pressure, no countdowns, no expectations.”

Santa’s throat tightened. “You really planned all this?”

“Hotel, food spots, train passes, everything,” Perth said, looking far too proud of himself. “I even made a list of vending machine snacks we have to try.”

Santa laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re insane.”

“Yeah,” Perth said, grinning. “But I’m your kind of insane.”

Santa sighed, finally letting the tension slip from his shoulders. “A whole week?”

“A whole week,” Perth confirmed. “We’ll go see the blossoms, eat too much sushi, and sleep until noon if we want to. No phones. No schedules. Just us.”

Santa leaned in, resting his forehead against Perth’s. “You really think that’ll fix me?”

Perth smiled gently. “No. But maybe it’ll remind you that you’re more than the things you’re trying to fix.”

Santa went quiet for a long moment — then exhaled, the fight finally leaving him.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Tokyo it is.”

Perth kissed his forehead. “Good. Because I already bought the matching suitcases.”

Santa groaned. “You did not.”

“Oh, I did,” Perth said with a smirk. “And they’re pink.”

Santa shoved him playfully, laughter echoing for the first time in what felt like forever.

And for the first time in months, their apartment didn’t feel heavy anymore.

Tokyo hit them with its usual chaos — the hum of trains, chatter of crowds, neon lights bleeding into night skies. But to Santa, it all felt softer this time. Maybe because he wasn’t here to chase schedules or spotlight cues. Maybe because Perth was right beside him, fingers laced through his.

Their hotel overlooked the city. When they stepped in, Santa froze — the view was identical to their first trip years ago.

“You remembered this place,” Santa murmured.

Perth smiled, setting down their bags. “Of course I did. You said this was the first place you ever woke up and thought, ‘I could live like this forever.’

Santa laughed quietly. “I was so dramatic.”

“Still are,” Perth teased. “That’s why I love you.”

Santa turned to look at him — really look. Perth’s smile was the same as it had been years ago, but softer now. Grounded. They’d both grown up, together and around each other, and somehow still fit.

The first night passed slow. They wandered the streets, found a small ramen place they’d eaten at on their first trip. The owner even recognized them — or at least pretended to — and insisted they take free gyoza. Santa almost cried laughing when Perth struggled with the chopsticks again.

Later, back at the hotel, they sat side by side on the balcony, wrapped in blankets, the city glittering below them.

Santa sipped his tea. “It’s weird, being here again.”

“How so?”

“Feels like time folded. Like we never left.” He glanced at Perth. “Do you remember? Our first night here?”

Perth smiled knowingly. “You mean when you nearly burned your eyebrows trying to light that scented candle?”

Santa groaned. “I was trying to set the mood!”

“You set off the smoke detector.”

They both burst out laughing, and for a moment, it felt like they were twenty-something again — new, reckless, and in love with every second of it.

Santa leaned his head on Perth’s shoulder, laughter fading into something quieter. “That night… I remember thinking I’d never felt that safe before.”

Perth looked down at him. “And now?”

Santa smiled. “Now I know I was right.”

They sat there for a long while, no words, just the rhythm of traffic below and the sound of their tea cups clinking softly together.

When Perth finally spoke again, his voice was low. “You know… even after everything, being here with you feels like the first time again.”

Santa looked at him, eyes soft. “Then maybe we’re doing something right.”

Perth leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to his temple. “Definitely.”

Santa closed his eyes, letting the warmth sink in — the city lights, the sound of Perth’s heartbeat under his ear, the faint smell of miso and spring air.

It wasn’t a restart.

It was a reminder — that love wasn’t always fireworks. Sometimes, it was the quiet comfort of coming full circle.

It was their third day in Tokyo, and for the first time in months, Santa woke up slowly. No alarms. No schedules. Just the faint sound of rain against the window and the warmth of Perth’s arm draped over his waist.

For a long time, he didn’t move. Just breathed.

Perth stirred beside him, hair a chaotic mess. “You’re staring,” he mumbled, half-asleep.

Santa smiled. “You drool in your sleep.”

Perth cracked one eye open. “That’s love, actually.”

Santa snorted, rolling over to face him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, here you are,” Perth said, smiling that lazy morning smile that always made Santa forget how to be mad.

They stayed like that for a while — tangled, unhurried, letting time stretch instead of chase it.

Later, they went out for coffee in a quiet neighborhood café. Perth ordered something way too sweet; Santa went for matcha like always. Outside, the world was still gray with drizzle, and the streets smelled like spring and rain-soaked sakura.

Santa leaned back in his chair, hands curled around his cup. “You know,” he said softly, “I think I forgot how to live like this.”

Perth tilted his head. “Like what?”

“Without waiting for something to happen.” He looked out the window. “I kept thinking I had to do everything perfectly, like if I worked hard enough, the universe would just… reward me. But maybe that’s not how it works.”

Perth was quiet for a moment before saying, “Maybe it just wants you to rest long enough to receive what it’s trying to give.”

Santa smiled faintly. “You sound like Nani.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They wandered through the streets after that, holding hands as they passed souvenir shops and old bookstores. Santa stopped to watch a small child chase pigeons near a fountain — all laughter and chaos and joy. Something in his chest ached, but not in the same way it used to. It wasn’t desperation anymore. Just… hope.

That night, back in their hotel room, Santa sat by the window again, watching the city glow below. Perth came up behind him, wrapping him in a hug.

“What are you thinking?” Perth murmured.

Santa leaned back into him. “That maybe I don’t need to fight the universe anymore. Maybe I just need to trust it’ll catch up eventually.”

Perth kissed the top of his head. “That’s my Santy."

Santa chuckled softly. “If I’d known all it took was a plane ticket and cherry blossoms, I’d have done this sooner.”

“Hey,” Perth said, grinning, “I take full credit for the emotional healing arc.”

Santa laughed, turning to face him. “Fine. You win.”

“Always do.”

For the first time in a long time, Santa didn’t feel like he was chasing something.

He felt like he was finally ready for it.

The rain hadn’t stopped all evening. It traced soft lines down the window, the room dim except for the glow from the city lights below.

Perth and Santa sat in silence for a long time, the kind that didn’t need filling. Their laughter from earlier had faded into something slower — quieter — but heavier with meaning.

The suite’s dim. Just city lights flickering outside the window and the low hum of a playlist Perth made on the flight. The kind of vibe that screams trouble. Santa’s in a silk robe, his mistake because Perth been eyeing like a dessert since dinner. 

Santa turned, eyes tracing Perth’s face in the dim light. “You’re staring,” he said softly.

Perth leaned back, unbothered, “You wore that and expected me not to?”

The robe slips—barely. Santa smirks, knowing what he’s doing. And then it’s on.

Perth crosses the room in two strides, and the wine glass is forgotten. Their mouths meet in that perfect collision of "I missed you" and "I’m not letting you sleep tonight."

Santa’s pulled into Perth’s lap on the chaise lounge, straddling him, fingers threading into hair, breath hitching.Santa teasing, hot against his lips,“You gonna worship me like you said?”

Perth growls, already untying the robe,“Get ready to pray. Hands everywhere. Clothes nowhere. The robe’s a distant memory on the floor. Santa’s back hits the sheets next, body arching as Perth drags his mouth down every inch, murmuring praises like a man spellbound.

Santa's thighs tremble as Perth licks a stripe down his stomach, holding eye contact—dangerous, unholy. He doesn’t just make love—he owns it. Perth between kisses, lower and lower, “Can’t believe you let me have you like this. In Japan. You’re unreal.”

Santa's shaky laugh, “Then stop talking and make me believe it.”

Challenge. Accepted.

They don’t just do it once. Nah. Perth’s dead set on making Santa feel it. Over and over. The kind of night that leaves their bodies aching and the sheets wrecked. And when Santa’s legs are limp, breathing shallow, and Perth’s hovering over him again with a lazy, satisfied grin...

Perth pressed kisses to his collarbone,“Still thinking about babies. Santa's half-lidded eyes, flushed, wrecked, “Nope, only you.”

Perth’s mouth is already on his like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. It’s not gentle. It’s hungry, possessive. The kind of kiss that says I haven’t stopped thinking about this since the plane took off.

Perth murmuring against Santa’s lips, “You know what I wanna do to you tonight?”

Santa breathless,“If it doesn’t involve clothes on, then yes.”

Perth chuckles darkly, “Clothes? Babe, I plan to have you on every surface of this room.”

Santa’s knees nearly buckle. Perth wastes no time—sliding the silk robe off his shoulders and letting it pool at his feet like liquid temptation. He steps back, takes in the view, and his eyes darken.

Without wasting time, Perth’s got his hands on Santa’s hips, dragging him to the bed like a man on a mission. They tumble down together, heat igniting like wildfire. Perth’s kisses trail down Santa’s throat, his chest, his stomach—slow, reverent, wicked.

Perth grinning against his skin, “You wore that robe like a tease. I’m gonna punish you for it.” Punishment never felt so good. Perth flips him over, hands spreading Santa open, and leans in to whisper in his ear. “Say it. Tell me you want it," he growls low and commanding.

Santa, already trembling, “I want it. I want you. I'm all yours.”

And Perth went on again. And again. On the bed, against the window, bent over the vanity, while the street lights flicker outside.

Santa whimpering, “They’re gonna hear us—"

Perth thrusting in deeper, as santa about to scream, Perth cupped his mouth. Time blurs. Moans and skin against skin, whispers of mine and more, sheets kicked off and silk clinging to sweat-slicked skin. Perth’s voice in Santa’s ear is a constant—filthy, reverent.

They finish together—Santa crying out, Perth groaning low and deep. And they don’t stop. Not even after the first round. Or the second. It’s hours later when Santa’s sprawled out, boneless and wrecked, barely able to lift his arm.

Santa's voice hoarse, “You’re obsessed with me.”

Perth pulling him into his chest, “Damn right. And tomorrow, I’m eating you for breakfast.”

Santa laughs weakly, “Better bring coffee too.”

Perth kisses his shoulder, “Only if you wear that robe again. Or nothing.”

Sunlight streams through the sheer curtains, warm and golden—very much the enemy to Santa’s currently demolished body. He groans dramatically, flopping a limp arm over his eyes like he’s the lead in a tragic musical.

Santa, “I’m suing. My legs have filed for divorce.”

Perth’s already up, shirtless and smug, sipping espresso on the tiny balcony like he didn’t just absolutely ruin someone’s son eight hours ago.

Perth grinning, “I told you to hydrate between rounds.”

Santa, “I did. With your words. You said, ‘You can take it, baby’, remember? And guess what? I couldn’t.” Santa tries to sit up and immediately regrets it. Groans again. Fails.

Perth walks over, leans down, and places a gentle kiss on Santa’s swollen lips. “You loved it. You wanna do round five now or after breakfast?”

Santa throws a pillow at him. It does absolutely nothing. Perth catches it effortlessly and smirks.

Chapter Text

When they came home, everything felt different. The apartment was still the same — same couch, same faint scent of candles and vanilla — but the heaviness that once lingered there was gone.

Santa unpacked slowly, humming to himself, occasionally stopping to admire tiny souvenirs they’d picked up along the way. Perth leaned against the doorframe, watching him with a quiet smile.

“You seem… happy,” Perth said.

Santa turned, a soft grin on his face. “I am. I think I needed to remember that life’s more than waiting for one line on a stick.”

Perth nodded. “You did more than remember. You reset.”

Santa walked over, looping his arms around Perth’s neck. “And you stayed,” he whispered. “Even when I was losing it.”

“I’d stay through worse,” Perth said honestly. “But this—this I like. You, calm. You, smiling. You, here.”

Santa smiled, pressing a light kiss to his jaw. “You’re stuck with me now, you know.”

“Good,” Perth murmured. “That’s exactly where I want to be stuck.”

And just like that, they slipped back into their lives — calmer, stronger, no longer chasing something that wasn’t ready yet. For once, it wasn’t about the plan or the result. It was about waking up next to each other and realizing that this — them — was already something worth everything.

They didn’t know it yet, but somewhere deep inside that peace they’d finally found, something small had started to change. Quietly. Naturally. As if the universe had been waiting for them to exhale first.

Back home, life slipped into rhythm again — easy, quiet, almost too normal. Perth was grateful for that. After everything, “normal” felt like a luxury.

Santa dove back into work, full of energy and ideas. He was always humming, always busy, always… glowing, somehow. Perth noticed it first on a random Tuesday morning. Santa came out of the shower, hair damp, cheeks flushed, wearing one of Perth’s shirts again — the one that was definitely not his size.

“Good morning,” Santa said, voice soft but bright, and Perth blinked.

Something felt different. Not bad — just off. Like the air around him had shifted a degree warmer.

“You okay?” Perth asked, watching him move around the kitchen like a caffeinated fairy.

Santa shrugged, pouring cereal and spilling half of it. “I’m fine! Just… hungry, I guess.”

He was always hungry lately. And emotional. And weirdly clingy.

Perth had always known Santa was affectionate. It was part of his charm — the casual touches, the way he’d link pinkies when they walked together, or lean his head on Perth’s shoulder mid-conversation like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But lately? It was on another level.

Perth woke up one morning to find Santa practically plastered to him, arms around his waist, face buried against his chest. He tried to move an inch, and Santa made a small sound — half whine, half threat — without even opening his eyes.

“Good morning to you too,” Perth muttered, smiling despite himself.

“Don’t move,” came the muffled reply. “You’re warm.”

“I have work in an hour.”

“Work can wait.”

It didn’t, of course, but somehow Perth found himself staying a few minutes longer. Maybe ten. Maybe twenty.

By the end of the week, the clinginess had turned into a full-time habit. Santa followed him around the apartment like a sleepy shadow — leaning against his back while he cooked, sitting cross-legged on the bathroom floor while Perth brushed his teeth, even sticking his hand into Perth’s hoodie pocket as they watched TV.

“Are you okay?” Perth finally asked one evening, glancing down at Santa, who was currently half draped over him on the couch.

Santa just blinked. “Why?”

“You’ve been… extra attached lately.”

“Hmm,” Santa hummed, nuzzling closer. “Maybe I just missed you.”

Perth chuckled. “I’ve been right here all week.”

“Yeah, but now I’m emotionally missing you.”

Perth laughed so hard he almost dropped the remote. “That’s not even a thing.”

“It is now,” Santa said, unapologetic, curling up even tighter.

The rehearsal studio was alive with movement and sound — Jasper’s tracks playing through the speakers, members calling out cues, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor.

Santa had been on fire all morning, leading formations, guiding Joong and Aou through the tricky parts, laughing with Pond when someone missed a step. Everything was routine — or at least, it should have been.

And then it hit him: a wave of nausea that made his stomach twist unpleasantly. He blinked, shook his head, trying to brush it off.

“San, you okay?” Joong asked, noticing him pause mid-step.

“Yeah,” Santa said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… dizzy for a second.” He waved it off and tried to move again, brushing off the wobble.

Aou frowned. “You don’t look okay. Want a break?”

Santa shook his head. “Nope. I’m fine. Really.”

But the feeling lingered, subtle but persistent, like a quiet alarm he didn’t want to acknowledge. He ignored it, chalking it up to being tired or maybe the lingering stress from the past months.

Aou, standing near the edge of the studio with a clipboard in hand, noticed the slight slump in his posture. “San?” he asked quietly, stepping closer.

“I’m okay,” Santa repeated, forcing another grin. “Don’t worry about me. Let’s keep going.”

Aou didn’t argue. He just watched, quietly alert, a small frown tugging at his brow. He knew Santa too well — and something about that stubborn grin told him Santa wasn’t telling the full story.

The practice continued, the music pounding through the room, the members moving like a well-oiled machine. But in the back of Santa’s mind, that nausea lingered, a subtle shadow he couldn’t quite shake.

By the end of rehearsal, it had mostly passed, leaving only a faint, lingering queasiness and the nagging thought that maybe — just maybe — he shouldn’t have ignored it so easily.

By the second week of Santa’s “weird phase,” Perth had seen it all — the mood swings, the cravings, the sleepy mid-afternoon naps that came out of nowhere.

That morning, Santa was curled up on the couch in one of Perth’s hoodies, sipping chocolate milk straight from the carton, eyes glassy as he watched a cooking show. His face lit up when the chef pulled out a tray of cream puffs.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “I could eat twenty of those right now.”

Perth looked up from his laptop, amused. “Didn’t you just finish breakfast?”

Santa nodded solemnly. “Yeah, but that was breakfast, this is brunch talk.”

Perth couldn’t help laughing. “Got it.”

He leaned against the counter, watching Santa with fond exasperation. Something about him lately was… endearing, even if it made no sense.

“Hey,” Perth said slowly, a teasing lilt in his voice, “with all this eating, crying, and sleeping, you sure you’re not—” He trailed off, grinning. “—pregnant or something?”

Santa froze mid-sip. His eyes flicked up to Perth’s face, wide and startled, like he couldn’t tell if it was a joke or a revelation.

Perth laughed, raising his hands. “Relax, I’m kidding! You’ve just been acting kinda hormonal.”

Santa didn’t laugh. He blinked, set the milk down carefully, and pressed a hand to his stomach. “That’s… not funny.”

Perth’s smile faded. “Hey, I was just—”

“No, I mean…” Santa’s voice dropped. “What if I am?”

The silence that fell between them was almost comical. Perth blinked once. Twice.

“…Wait. Seriously?”

Santa bit his lip, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s not impossible, right? It’s been months since we—” He stopped, cheeks flushing as he realized what he was saying out loud.

Perth stared. “You—you’d know if you were, though. Wouldn’t you?”

“I thought I would,” Santa admitted, nervous laughter bubbling up. 

Perth rubbed the back of his neck, his earlier teasing completely gone. “Okay, uh… hypothetically—if you were—Should we…”

“Find out?” Santa finished, voice quiet but certain now. 

Perth’s heart skipped. He suddenly remembered that box under the bathroom sink — the leftover tests Santa hadn’t thrown away after the last time.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them felt electric, charged with everything they’d wanted, feared, and almost given up on.

Then Santa stood up, slow and steady, determination flashing across his face. “I’ll go check.”

Perth reached for him, almost on instinct. “Wait—maybe—don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

Santa nodded. “I know.”

But the small, unshakable smile on his lips said otherwise.

He disappeared down the hall, and Perth just stood there — heart pounding, every nerve alive, trying to convince himself this was still a joke.

Except it didn’t feel like one anymore.

It felt like the moment everything was about to change.

Chapter Text

Santa disappeared down the hall, the click of the bathroom door the only sound in the apartment. Perth stayed frozen where he was, every second stretching out like an hour. He told himself not to expect anything, not to believe anything yet—but his heart refused to listen.

Then the door opened.

Santa stepped out, a trembling smile breaking across his face before his voice could even form words. His eyes were shiny, cheeks flushed, and for one heartbeat Perth didn’t need to ask what happened.

Santa’s breath hitched, and suddenly he was in Perth’s arms—laughing and crying all at once.

“I didn’t think it could happen,” he whispered against Perth’s shoulder, voice thick with disbelief and joy.

Perth’s hands tightened around him. “Hey, hey… it’s okay. Whatever it is, you did it, we did it.”

Santa pulled back just enough to look up at him, tears catching the light. “I’m just—so happy. I almost gave up, and then…”

“Then the universe finally caught up,” Perth said softly.

Santa nodded, still smiling through tears. “Guess we just needed to stop chasing it for a minute.”

Santa’s tears hadn’t even dried before Perth pulled him close again, laughter bubbling between them. It wasn’t planned; it wasn’t even thought through. It was just instinct—the kind that comes when joy is too big to hold in words.

Santa’s breath caught as Perth cupped his face, thumbs brushing away the tears still clinging to his cheeks.

“Hey,” Perth whispered, grinning even as his own eyes shimmered. “You’re crying and smiling at the same time. That’s not fair—you’re messing me up too.”

Santa gave a breathy laugh. “Can’t help it. I’m just—so happy.”

“I know,” Perth said softly. “Me too.”

And before either of them could say anything else, he leaned in. The kiss wasn’t desperate or hurried; it was slow, deep, full of relief. The kind of kiss that feels like exhaling after holding your breath for months.

Santa melted against him, fingers clutching at Perth’s shirt. Every emotion—hope, disbelief, love—folded into that one moment.

When they finally broke apart, Santa rested his forehead against Perth’s, still smiling through a new wave of tears.

“We did it,” he whispered.

Perth nodded, voice barely there. “Yeah. We really did.”

They stood there for a long time, the world shrinking down to heartbeats and quiet breathing. No expectations. No fear. Just the warmth of being exactly where they were meant to be—together.

The air in the clinic felt too still, like even the walls were holding their breath with them. Santa sat perched on the edge of the chair, fingers woven through Perth’s so tightly that neither could tell whose hand was trembling more.

“Why does it feel like we’ve been waiting for hours?” Santa whispered.

“Because we kinda have,” Perth muttered with a half-laugh that didn’t quite land. He squeezed Santa’s hand anyway. “Hey—whatever they say, we face it together, okay?”

Santa nodded, trying to smile, but his throat felt too tight. The nurse finally called their names, and suddenly the world shrank to the sound of their footsteps and the quiet hum of fluorescent lights.

Inside the small consultation room, time slowed. The doctor scrolled through her notes, then looked up with a warm smile.

“Well,” she said, voice calm but full of something that made Santa’s stomach flip. “I have your results.”

Perth’s arm went around Santa’s shoulders automatically, steady and protective.

The doctor nodded once, eyes kind. “Congratulations, you're pregnant.”

Santa blinked, unable to process it all at once. “I'm..... Pregnant?”

“Yes you are,” the doctor confirmed. "So, do you want and ultrasound?"

It hit Perth like sunlight after rain. "Yes," Perth laughed at first—loud, disbelieving, emotional—and pulled Santa into his chest. Santa’s arms went around him instantly, and before he could stop himself, he was laughing and crying all at once.

Santa is trying to get comfortable on the chair, while holding Perth's hand trying to not be nervous.

“It’s gonna be a bit cold,” the doctor said, gently applying the cool gel. “You’re just around seven weeks—still early, but let’s take a look.”

Santa tensed. “What if it’s not real? What if I’m just imagining all of this and it’s a very elaborate stress ulcer?”

Perth squeezed his fingers. “Then we’ll raise the ulcer and give it a good education.”

Santa let out a nervous laugh that broke off into a sniffle.

And then—

A flicker. A blip on the screen. A tiny white pulsing dot.

“There’s your baby,” the doctor said softly. “Heartbeat is strong.”

Santa stared.

Perth froze.

Neither spoke.

Santa's lips wobbled. He blinked rapidly. “It looks like… a jellybean.”

Perth's leaned forward. “A miracle jellybean.”

Then Santa full-on sobbed. Loud, messy, emotionally unhinged sobbing.

Perth panicked. “Why are you crying?!”

“I don’t know! Maybe because there’s a thing growing inside me and I want it and I didn’t think I would,"

Perth didn’t laugh. He just pulled him in, cradling him like he was made of silk and political leverage.

“You’re allowed to want this,” he whispered. “You’re allowed to be scared, too.” Perth kissed the top of his head.

They stayed like that until the doctor excused himself quietly, smiling just a little.

Later that night, Perth found an entirely new pillow fort built on his bed. Santa was already inside, swaddled in his hoodie, clutching the ultrasound print-out like it was royal treasure.

Perth climbed in beside him, pulled the covers up, and whispered, “Scoot over.”

Santa sniffed. “You smell nice.”

Perth laughed, “Well, you stole all my clothes, baby.”

“I’m pregnant. I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

Perth grinned into his hair. “Can’t wait to see what kind of havoc our kid causes.”

Santa was quiet. Then, softly, “Hopefully the kind that brings kingdoms to their knees.”

Perth chuckled. “A menace. Just like their parents.”

Santa stared at his phone for a good minute before pressing call. His hands were still shaking from holding the ultrasound photo. His heart raced like he’d just finished a concert, not sat in a clinic hearing the words “You’re pregnant.”

When his mother answered, her usual cheerful “Hello, my son!” nearly broke him.

“Mom…” His voice came out unsteady. “I need to tell you something important.”

Her tone immediately shifted. “What is it? Are you okay?”

He took a deep breath, smiling through the tears that suddenly gathered in his eyes.

“Actually… yeah. I’m more than okay. I just— I found out I’m pregnant.”

There was silence on the line. A stunned kind of quiet, like she was processing every word carefully.

Then, softly, “You’re serious?”

Santa let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “Yeah. It’s real this time. I went to the doctor and everything. I… I can’t believe it either.”

And before she could respond, the words tumbled out of him—everything he’d been bottling for months.

“I’ve been trying for so long, Mom. We both have. And it just kept not happening, test after test. I thought maybe it just wasn’t meant for me. But now—”

He covered his face with his free hand, a laugh breaking through his tears. “Now it’s real. I did it. I’m gonna be a mom.”

His mom gasped, voice trembling. “Oh, my baby… I knew it would happen when it was meant to. You didn’t give up.”

“I almost did,” he whispered. “But Perth kept me grounded. And now— I don’t even know how to feel except… happy. Really, really happy.”

Her voice softened into a smile. “Then that’s all that matters, sweetheart. You’ve always had a big heart. Now you’ll have someone tiny to share it with.”

Santa laughed again, eyes blurry with tears. “Guess so, huh? You’re gonna be a grandma.”

Her joyful scream nearly burst his eardrum, but he didn’t care—he laughed harder, finally letting all the months of hope, disappointment, and determination melt into pure, unshakable joy.

Perth’s mom had invited them over for dinner, thinking it was just another casual visit. Santa was unusually quiet beside Perth, hands clasped together under the table, eyes twinkling with a secret he could barely contain.

When everyone sat down, Perth kept sneaking glances at him, already suspicious.

“Okay,” his mom said, smiling. “You two are being weirdly quiet. What’s going on?”

Santa looked at Perth, then took a deep breath. “We, uh… have some news.”

Perth smiled, sliding his hand over Santa’s. “It’s a big one.”

His mom’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re not breaking up, are you?”

“WHAT? No!” Perth laughed. “Opposite of that.”

Santa laughed nervously, then blurted it out before he could lose his nerve.

“I’m pregnant.”

For a split second — silence. Then Perth’s mom’s eyes went wide, her mouth dropping open.

“Pregnant? Pregnant?”

Santa nodded, smile trembling with emotion. “Yeah. Doctor confirmed it. We’ve been trying for a while, and it finally happened.”

Perth’s mom let out a delighted squeal, springing up from her chair and hugging Santa so tight he squeaked. “Oh my god! You two— I’m— I’m going to be a grandma?!”

Perth grinned, heart full. Seeing her so happy made it all feel even more real.

When she finally let go, she turned to Perth with that look.

The one that said “sweet moment’s over, it’s lecture time.”

“Perth Tanapon,” she said, voice firm but affectionate. “You’d better take excellent care of Santa. You hear me?”

Perth blinked, caught off guard. “Of course I will—”

“No, I mean really take care of him. Not the ‘I’ll order soup and say rest well’ kind. The ‘he gets foot rubs, snacks, and zero stress’ kind.”

Santa tried to stifle a giggle. Perth just nodded obediently. “Yes, ma’am.”

His mom turned to Santa again, instantly softening. “And you, sweetheart, no overworking, okay? I know you. You’ll say you’re fine while you’re halfway to fainting.”

Santa smiled sheepishly. “I’ll behave, promise.”

She cupped his cheek, eyes glassy but warm. “I’m so proud of you both. This baby’s already got the best parents in the world.”

Perth wrapped his arm around Santa’s shoulders, voice low but full of love.

“Guess we’re officially starting our next chapter.”

“And you,” his mom said, pointing at him again, “better not forget to send me bump pictures every week.”

Santa laughed. “Deal.”

The room filled with laughter, soft tears, and that quiet, glowing feeling — the kind that said: this family just grew a little bigger.

Chapter Text

It started innocently enough. Santa thought it was just a one-off wave of nausea. Maybe he hadn’t eaten right, or the coffee was too strong. Then it hit again. And again. And again.

By the end of the week, “morning sickness” was a full-time job.

Perth woke up one morning to the sound of the bathroom door clicking and the sink running. Half-asleep, he mumbled, “Baby? You brushing your teeth or battling demons?”

From inside came Santa’s weak voice, “Both. WHY did no one tell me it’s this bad?!”

Perth blinked, as Santa stomped in, hair messy, face pale, wearing Perth’s oversized hoodie like a grumpy little ghost.

“Tell you what’s bad?” Perth asked cautiously.

“Pregnancy!” Santa dramatically pointed at his own stomach. “This! This is evil! Everyone talks about glow and miracles and motherhood, but no one mentions that you throw up your soul every morning!”

Perth shot up instantly, “Don’t. Laugh.”

“I’m not!” Perth said, even though his smile was clearly losing the battle. “You look adorable—like a very angry marshmallow.”

Santa side-eyed him. “Say that again and I’ll throw up on your shirt.”

“Noted,” Perth said quickly, already rubbing circles on Santa’s back. “Hey, hey… breathe. It’ll pass soon, okay? You’re doing so well.”

Santa groaned. “I’m not doing well. My stomach hates me. My body hates me. The smell of toast hates me.” He pointed dramatically toward the kitchen. “Your cologne hates me too.”

Perth blinked. “My cologne?”

Santa nodded, grimacing. “It’s like my nose got upgraded. I can smell it from across the house. It’s… so strong.”

Perth looked mildly offended. “This is my signature scent!”

“Well, your ‘signature’ is making me nauseous,” Santa muttered, holding his stomach.

Perth couldn’t help but chuckle as he leaned down and kissed Santa’s temple. “Alright, no more cologne. I’ll smell like… nothing. For you.”

Later that day, he caught Santa sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, glaring at a plate of plain crackers like it personally wronged him.

Perth knelt beside him. “You should eat something. Doctor said light snacks help.”

Santa squinted at the crackers. “They betrayed me last time.”

Perth chuckled, brushing his hair back. “Want me to feed you?”

Santa sighed dramatically. “Only if you promise not to make airplane noises.”

“I can’t promise that,” Perth grinned, holding up a cracker like it was sacred. “Open up, baby—here comes the—”

Santa gave him a death stare so sharp that Perth instantly lowered the cracker. “Okay, okay, no airplanes. Got it.”

Santa took a bite, still glaring. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” Perth said softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “And I’ll keep saying it until you believe you’re doing amazing.”

Santa leaned back, exhausted. “This is worse than any comeback prep I’ve ever done. At least when I’m dancing, I don’t throw up every ten minutes.”

Perth laughed quietly, sitting beside him. “Hey, at least you’re not alone in this. I’m right here. I’ll hold your hair, fetch your ginger tea, whatever it takes.”

Santa gave him a tired but genuine smile. “You really mean that?”

“Of course.” Perth smiled, brushing a hand over his stomach. “We’re in this together, remember? You, me, and our little chaos bean.”

Santa snorted softly despite himself. “Chaos bean?”

“Hey, you’re the one who’s been moody and dramatic. Clearly, it’s genetic.”

Santa rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth lifted. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re glowing,” Perth said warmly, pulling him close.

Santa hummed, resting his head against Perth’s shoulder. “I’m glowing from nausea.”

“Still counts,” Perth whispered.

And just like that, even through the exhaustion, the sickness, and the crankiness, Santa couldn’t help but laugh. Because somehow, even when everything felt like too much, Perth made it a little easier—one bad joke, one soft kiss, and one very patient smile at a time.

Perth was halfway through buttoning his shirt when a familiar whine came from the bed.

“Where are you going?”

Santa’s voice was muffled under the blanket, only his hair sticking out — a messy tuft of curls that screamed I’m not letting you escape that easily.

“Filming, remember?” Perth said gently. “We’ve talked about this. I’ll be gone for two days tops.”

The blanket shifted, and Santa peeked out, face adorably pouty and eyes glossy with sleep. “But two days is basically forever.”

Perth chuckled, walking over to ruffle his hair. “You’ll survive, baby. You’ve got your snacks, your drama list, and our baby.”

Santa immediately grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer. “You forgot this baby.”

“I'll never forget this big baby,” Perth teased, bending down to kiss his forehead. “But I have to work, remember?”

Santa wrapped his arms around Perth’s waist, refusing to let go. “Can’t you just… say you’re sick? Or allergic to leaving me?”

Perth laughed softly. “I already used that excuse last week.”

Santa narrowed his eyes. “Then I’ll just go with you.”

“You hate going to my film sets.”

“I’ll un-hate them.”

Perth sighed, pressing another kiss to his hair. “You know you need rest. The doctor literally said you’re supposed to take it easy.”

Santa mumbled into his chest, “Taking it easy with you sounds nice.”

Perth smiled, heart flipping in his chest. “You’re ridiculously cute when you’re clingy.”

“I’m not clingy,” Santa protested weakly. “I just… like you.”

“Mm-hmm.” Perth pretended to think. “You followed me into the shower yesterday because you ‘missed me.’”

Santa blinked. “Yeah, and?”

“And I was literally in the same house.”

Santa frowned. “Your point?”

Perth couldn’t stop laughing now. “Okay, okay. You win. You’re not clingy — you’re just… magnetically attached.”

“Exactly,” Santa said smugly, tugging on Perth’s shirt until he sat back down on the bed. “Stay ten more minutes.”

Perth sighed in defeat and slipped under the blanket beside him. “Ten minutes. Then I really have to go.”

Santa rested his head on Perth’s chest, tracing little circles on his shirt. “You promise to text me every break?”

“Every single one.”

“And call before you sleep?”

“Of course.”

Santa squinted up at him. “And send pictures. Not of you filming, but of you eating so I know you’re actually having meals.”

Perth grinned. “You sound like the one taking care of me now.”

Santa smirked sleepily. “Well, someone has to. You’re forgetful.”

“Touché.” Perth chuckled, brushing his thumb along Santa’s cheek. “You really don’t have to worry so much. You and the baby are my first thought every morning and my last thought at night.”

Santa melted a little, his pout softening. “You say that like it’s supposed to make me less obsessed with you.”

Perth laughed, voice low and fond. “Maybe I don’t want you to be less obsessed.”

Santa smiled into his chest, his voice small but full of warmth. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me now.”

Perth kissed the top of his head. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

By the time Perth actually managed to leave the house, Santa was standing by the door wrapped in a blanket like a sad burrito, watching him go.

Perth blew him a kiss from the car. “I’ll be back before you know it!”

Santa waved weakly. “If you’re not, I’m sending the baby to find you.”

Perth laughed so hard he nearly forgot to start the engine.

The set was calm — or at least it had been calm — until someone’s familiar voice echoed across the soundstage.

“Is this where you’re hiding from me?”

Every head turned. Perth froze mid-line, script halfway in the air. He blinked once. Twice. “…Santa?”

And there he was — standing at the edge of the set, oversized hoodie, cap, and mask failing miserably to hide his identity. He looked like the definition of ‘I’m not supposed to be here but I am anyway.’

The staff whispered among themselves, amused. The director grinned. “Ah, the boyfriend finally makes an appearance.”

Perth’s ears turned red. “You—what are you doing here?”

Santa shrugged innocently, sauntering over with that mix of pout and smug that could only mean trouble. “You weren’t answering my texts fast enough.”

“I was filming!” Perth groaned, setting his script down as the crew tried (and failed) not to laugh.

“I know,” Santa said, settling on the director’s chair like he owned the place. “But you said I could visit anytime.”

“That was before I realized you’d actually do it!”

Santa crossed his arms. “You said you missed me this morning.”

“I did!” Perth said, running a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean ‘sneak into my set like a dramatic rom-com protagonist!’”

Santa tilted his head sweetly. “Are you mad?”

Perth sighed, defeated. “I can never be. I'm always happy to see this cute face, how am I supposed to be mad at that?”

The makeup artist nearby nearly choked trying not to laugh.

Santa smiled triumphantly, patting the seat beside him. “Then come sit with me for five minutes. The baby misses you too,” Santa whispers.

“Unfair tactic,” Perth mumbled, but he went anyway.

Santa immediately leaned into him, nuzzling his shoulder like a cat. “Mmm, see? This is better. The baby’s calm now.”

Perth glanced at the crew, who were now openly smiling. “You’re turning my workplace into a fan meeting.”

The director then greet Santa, “Hi Santa, we are happy to have you here. This could be a great PR. You two are adorable.”

Santa smirked. “See? Even he gets it.”

Perth could only groan, but there was no hiding the soft smile tugging at his lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

Santa grinned, whispering, “You love it.”

Perth looked down at him — his sleepy eyes, the way his hands rested protectively on his stomach — and yeah, he couldn’t even pretend otherwise. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I really do.”

The director called for a short break, and Perth instantly started fussing over Santa — fetching him water, finding him a chair with a cushion, making sure the AC wasn’t too strong.

“Perth, I’m fine,” Santa said between laughs. “You’re acting like I’ll melt.”

“You might!” Perth shot back, adjusting the chair again. “The lights here are hot, you need to stay hydrated.”

Santa shook his head, smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re reckless,” Perth countered. “We’re perfect for each other.”

Santa leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Yeah… we kinda are.”

No one knew about the pregnancy yet.

Not the staff, not the director, not even the makeup team that adored Santa to pieces.

To them, he was just Perth’s boyfriend dropping by with that familiar soft smile — the one that made even the interns swoon.

But Perth knew better. He knew the reason Santa moved slower, why he kept one hand subconsciously resting against his lower stomach, why his energy faded a little faster these days.

And it made his chest ache.

Perth was in the middle of shooting a scene when he noticed Santa sitting off to the side, half-hidden behind a lighting rig, head resting against his palm. He looked small — too still, too quiet.

Between takes, Perth instantly made a beeline for him.

“Hey,” he whispered, crouching down beside his chair. “You okay?”

Santa opened one eye, smiling faintly. “Yeah, just sleepy. Don’t worry.”

Perth frowned. “You’ve been sitting here for hours. You should’ve gone home to rest.”

Santa shook his head. “Didn’t wanna. I like watching you work.”

Perth’s heart squeezed. “You sure? You don’t have to prove anything, you know.”

Santa chuckled softly. “I’m not proving anything. I’m just… being near you. Makes the nausea feel less like a monster in my stomach.”

That hit Perth right in the gut — a mix of guilt and love so intense it nearly hurt.

He reached for Santa’s hand and squeezed gently, his thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You shouldn’t push yourself like this, baby. You need rest.”

Santa tilted his head, teasing even through the exhaustion. “You’re just saying that because I look tragic.”

“I’m saying that because I know you,” Perth said, voice low and soft. “You pretend you’re fine when you’re not.”

Santa smiled faintly. “Maybe. But it’s worth it. I missed you.”

Perth glanced around — the crew was busy resetting the lights, distracted — and he leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Santa’s temple. “I missed you too. More than you think.”

Santa sighed contentedly, resting his head on Perth’s shoulder. “Then let me stay until you’re done. Promise I won’t move.”

“You’ll fall asleep halfway through,” Perth teased.

“Then you can carry me home,” Santa mumbled, eyes fluttering closed.

Perth chuckled quietly. “Don’t tempt me.”

He tucked Santa’s blanket tighter around him — the one he’d secretly stashed in the car just in case — and whispered, “I’ll finish fast, okay? Just stay warm.”

As Perth walked back toward the set, his co-star nudged him. “He really came all the way here to wait for you?”

Perth smiled softly, eyes lingering on Santa, who had already dozed off in the chair, face peaceful. “Yeah,” he said, voice filled with something only he understood. “He always does.”

No one needed to know yet — not about the heartbeat that already existed between them, or the quiet miracle growing stronger every day.

For now, it was their secret. Their soft, beautiful secret.

And Perth would protect it — and Santa — with everything he had.

Filming finally wrapped around midnight. The crew clapped, the director yelled a cheerful “Good work, everyone!” — but Perth’s eyes weren’t on the lights or the cameras.

They were on the far side of the set, where Santa had fallen asleep in the chair — curled up under the blanket Perth brought, hood half-slipped, mouth slightly open.

Perth’s heart melted instantly.

He really waited for me the whole day.

He thanked the staff quickly, mumbling something about heading home, then quietly made his way over. Santa stirred as Perth knelt beside him.

“Hey,” Perth whispered. “Time to go home, baby.”

Santa blinked sleepily, voice small. “You done?”

“Yeah.” Perth smiled. “You waited the whole day, didn’t you?”

Santa gave a tiny nod, then yawned. “Didn’t wanna miss you. You looked so happy acting.”

Perth’s chest ached with love. “You’re supposed to rest, not watch me make fake romantic eye contact for twelve hours.”

Santa cracked a lazy grin. “It’s fine. You only have eyes for me anyway.”

Perth laughed quietly. “You’re impossible.”

Santa hummed. “You love it.”

Perth glanced around — the crew was packing up, no one paying attention — and whispered, “Come here.”

Before Santa could protest, Perth carefully scooped him up into his arms.

Santa gasped softly, half-awake now. “Perth! I can walk—”

“Shh.” Perth adjusted his hold, firm but gentle. “You’ve been sitting here all day. Let me take care of you for once.”

Santa’s arms instinctively looped around his neck. “You’re gonna make everyone stare.”

“They’re too tired to care,” Perth said with a chuckle. “And even if they do, they’ll just think you’re spoiled.”

Santa smiled faintly, head falling against Perth’s shoulder. “I am spoiled.”

“Good. That’s the plan.”

By the time they reached the car, Santa was fully half-asleep again. Perth set him down gently in the passenger seat, tucking the blanket around him.

Santa mumbled something incoherent, eyes barely open.

“What was that?” Perth asked softly, brushing his hair aside.

Santa blinked up at him. “You’re… gonna be an amazing dad.”

Perth froze, breath catching.

Santa’s voice was hazy, dreamlike. “You’re already the best… to me.”

And then he was out — fast asleep, his hand resting unconsciously on his belly.

Perth just sat there for a moment, staring at him. The hum of the night surrounded them — soft, distant city lights outside — and inside the car, everything felt still, quiet, sacred.

He leaned over, pressing a tender kiss to Santa’s forehead. “I’ll try,” he whispered. “For both of you.”

Then he started the car, driving home through the sleeping city — one hand on the wheel, the other gently holding Santa’s.

Because for Perth, this wasn’t just love anymore.

It was something deeper, quieter — a promise he didn’t have to say out loud.

Chapter Text

It started like any other weekend — the smell of pancakes, the sound of tiny feet running, and Nani shouting, "Neona, don’t feed your brother syrup straight from the bottle!”

Perth laughed as he flipped another pancake. “You two really bring the circus every time,” he said, glancing at Sky, who just shrugged with a grin.

“Better syrup than permanent markers,” Sky replied, holding Neona upside down to wipe chocolate off her cheek.

Santa, sitting at the table, just watched them all — fond and warm — his hand absentmindedly resting on his belly. Perth noticed but said nothing, giving him a knowing glance.

They’d agreed to tell them today. Casually. Very casually.

Well, at least that was Santa’s plan.

“So,” Sky said between bites, “how’s work? I saw the new teaser—Santa, you killed that look.”

Santa smiled, pretending to play it cool. “Thanks. Been a bit tired lately, though.”

Nani looked up. “Still working too much?”

Perth chuckled softly. “You could say that.”

Santa leaned back in his chair, trying to act nonchalant. “Yeah, I mean… I’ve got a pretty solid reason.”

Sky blinked. “What reason?”

Santa took a sip of his juice, eyes twinkling. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

Literal pin-drop silence.

Then—

“WHAT?!” Nani nearly dropped his fork, while Sky’s mouth fell open mid-chew.

Neona clapped, because apparently yelling meant fun. “Yay!”

Santa just smiled, trying not to laugh at their faces. “I told you it was a solid reason.”

Perth reached over and squeezed Santa’s hand gently, grinning from ear to ear. “We found out a few weeks ago.”

Sky stood up so fast his chair screeched. “A few weeks ago?! And you didn’t tell us?!”

“We wanted to make sure everything was okay first,” Perth said sheepishly.

Nani, emotional already, leaned across the table and hugged Santa. “You sneaky little omega! You said nothing!”

Santa laughed, rubbing his back. “I wanted to see your faces. Worth it.”

Meanwhile, Smyle tugged at Perth’s sleeve. “Uncle Perth, does that mean?”

Perth crouched to her level, smiling. “It means you will have a new little friend.”

Neona gasped dramatically. “Can I teach them how to run?”

Santa snorted. “Maybe when they can actually walk.”

Sky finally sat back down, shaking his head with a grin. “I can’t believe you just dropped it like that. No warning, no build-up, just ‘oh by the way, I’m pregnant.’”

Santa shrugged, sipping his juice again. “Gotta keep life interesting.”

Nani rolled his eyes fondly. “You’re impossible.”

“And glowing,” Sky added, smiling warmly. “Congratulations, both of you. You’ll be amazing parents.”

Perth looked at Santa, love practically written across his face. “Thank you.”

Santa squeezed his hand back.

The twins were already running circles around the table, chanting, “Baby! Baby!” while Sky tried and failed to calm them down.

The room was chaos, but it was happy chaos — the kind that made Santa’s chest feel full.

And when he caught Perth watching him — all soft eyes and dimples — he thought, yeah… this is exactly how I wanted to tell them.

The studio air smelled like coffee, sweat, and stress — the usual combo before a comeback.

Music pulsed through the mirrors, Santa counting steps in his head, trying to ignore the way his body begged for a break.

“From the chorus again!” he called, pushing through the last turn — only to miss his footing halfway.

“Yah, Santa!” Pond was on him in a second, frowning like a disappointed mom. “You nearly slipped again.”

“I’m fine,” Santa huffed, grabbing his towel. “Just need water.”

Aou narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been saying that all morning.”

Joong crossed his arms, that leader tone coming out. “You’re pale. Don’t play dumb — you’re not fine.”

Santa looked between them, realizing there was no way out. “Okay, okay, chill. Don’t freak out.”

Pond frowned harder. “You only say that when you’re about to say something that’ll make us freak out.”

Santa took a breath, then said it casually — like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“I’m pregnant.”

Three seconds of stunned silence.

Then—

“…You WHAT,” Joong exclaimed from acrosss the practice roon.

Aou looked surprised, “Excuse me???”

“—WITH WHO?" Pond asked.

Santa burst out laughing. “Relax! With Perth, obviously. Who else?”

Joong blinked rapidly, then rubbed his temples like he was buffering. “I—how long have you known?”

“A while,” Santa admitted. “We told Sky and Nani last week.”

Aou threw his towel on the floor dramatically. “And you didn’t tell us first?! We literally share your snacks, Santa!”

Santa giggled. “Because I knew this would happen.”

Pond crouched next to him, voice softening. “Okay but seriously, you shouldn’t be dancing like this. You’ve been pushing yourself since morning.”

Santa tried to wave it off. “I can handle it. I just don’t wanna hold everyone back.”

Joong sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Bro, holding back isn’t weakness. It’s protecting what’s important. You think we care about missing one choreo session when you’ve got a whole life inside you?”

Aou nodded fiercely. “Exactly. You’re sitting out for today. No arguments.”

Santa groaned. “You guys sound like Perth now.”

“Good,” Pond said, snatching Santa’s water bottle and handing him a chair. “Because clearly, you don’t listen unless three people nag you at once.”

Joong turned to the choreographer. “Santa’s done for today. Adjust formations.”

Santa blinked. “Wait—”

Aou clapped him on the shoulder, smirking. “Don’t ‘wait’ us. You’re officially on light duty, mister.”

Santa sighed but couldn’t help smiling. “You guys are dramatic.”

“Protective,” Pond corrected, handing him a banana. “Eat. Rest. Hydrate. If Perth finds out you danced yourself sick, he’ll come for us, not you.”

Santa laughed, taking a bite. “You’re not wrong.”

Joong softened then, eyes warm. “We’re proud of you, you know. For handling all this.”

Santa blinked, a little teary now. “You guys are too much sometimes.”

“Family,” Aou said simply. “Deal with it.”

Santa looked around the studio — the mirrors, the chaos, his ridiculous friends — and felt that warmth bloom in his chest again.

He’d always thought the stage was his whole world.

But maybe his world was just getting a little bit bigger.

Practice ended early that day — not because the choreographer said so, but because Joong, Pond, and Aou collectively decided it was Santa’s bedtime.

Santa was still protesting when Perth walked through the studio door, casual in a cap and sweats, holding an iced drink in one hand.

The moment he stepped in, all three Jasper members turned like bodyguards on alert.

Joong grinned. “Ah, the man of the hour.”

Perth blinked. “…Hi?”

Aou crossed his arms. “You didn’t tell us.”

Perth’s eyes flicked to Santa, who was standing sheepishly behind Pond. “You told them, didn’t you?”

Santa chuckled. “It slipped out.”

“It slipped?” Pond said dramatically. “You said it mid-dance break, Santa.”

Joong shook his head, pretending to scold him. “He really dropped it like, ‘Oh by the way, I’m pregnant,’ and went back to stretching.”

Perth burst out laughing, setting the drink on the table. “That sounds exactly like him.”

Aou pointed a finger at Perth, grinning. “Just so you know, we’ve been watching him all morning. He tried to overdo it again.”

Perth raised a brow, turning to Santa. “Oh really?”

Santa immediately pouted. “I wasn’t that bad—”

“Lies,” Pond interrupted. “Nearly slipped during chorus.”

Joong nodded solemnly. “We banned him from dancing for the rest of the day.”

Aou added proudly, “He’s under our protection now. Jasper Security, at your service.”

Perth couldn’t stop smiling. He ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely touched. “You guys… actually looked out for him?”

“Of course we did,” Joong said with mock offense. “That’s our baby niece or nephew in there—” he gestured vaguely toward Santa’s stomach, “—and we’re not letting him do high kicks until it’s out and walking.”

Santa groaned. “Can you not talk about me like I’m an incubator?”

Perth laughed, walking over and wrapping an arm around him gently. “They’re just worried, love.”

Santa leaned into him with a quiet sigh, whispering, “They’re worse than you.”

Pond beamed. “We’ll take that as a compliment.”

Perth turned back to the group, his voice soft but warm. “Thanks, seriously. For taking care of him when I couldn’t be here.”

Aou shrugged, smiling. “He’s family, bro. Don’t worry.”

Joong grinned. “And if he ever gets stubborn again, we’ll snitch immediately.”

“Good,” Perth said, pretending to make a note in his phone. “Group chat: Jasper Anti-Stress Patrol.”

Santa smacked his shoulder lightly, but his cheeks were pink from smiling too much.

As they headed out, Joong yelled, “Perth! Make sure he eats something real, not those tiny yogurt cups!”

Perth gave them a thumbs up. “On it!”

And as he guided Santa out of the studio, hand warm on his back, Perth couldn’t help saying quietly,

“They really love you.”

Santa smiled softly, looking up at him. “I know. I’m kinda lucky, huh?”

Perth squeezed his hand. “You both are.”

The apartment was quiet that night, the city lights peeking in through the curtains.

Perth sat cross-legged on the couch, laptop open but forgotten, while Santa leaned against him — oversized hoodie, hair still damp from his shower.

For once, they weren’t rushing anywhere. No rehearsals, no shoots. Just them, and the hum of the air conditioner.

Santa broke the silence first. “Hey, Perth?”

“Yeah?”

He hesitated, eyes still on his hands. “What’s… what’s gonna happen when I start showing?”

Perth closed the laptop immediately, giving him his full attention. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… with the comeback, performances, schedules.” Santa’s voice was small. “I know the company will support me, but I still want to do my part. I don’t wanna be that guy who bails halfway through.”

Perth watched him for a moment, then smiled gently. “You’re not ‘that guy,’ Santa. You’ve already done more than enough.”

Santa sighed. “You know how it is, though. Fans, media… everyone will have something to say.”

Perth nodded, reaching over to take his hand. “Let them talk. You don’t owe anyone an explanation about your life.”

Santa leaned into his shoulder. “Easy for you to say. You’re the nation’s sweetheart — you could sneeze on set and trend for being cute.”

Perth chuckled softly. “And you’d trend for sneezing in rhythm.”

That earned him a small laugh, but Santa’s tone softened again. “I’m serious, Perth. I love performing. It’s what I do. But… I also love this—” he placed a hand gently over his belly, “—and I don’t wanna mess it up.”

Perth covered Santa’s hand with his own. “Then we take it slow. You keep performing for as long as it feels right, and the second it doesn’t — you stop. No guilt, no pressure.”

Santa looked up at him, eyes glassy under the warm light. “You’d really be okay with that?”

Perth smiled, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “Of course I would. You think I care about some lost schedules? I care about you. Both of you.”

Santa blinked fast, looking down again. “You always make it sound so simple.”

“It is,” Perth said softly. “You don’t need to prove anything. You’ve already built your name. Now you get to build a life.”

Santa let out a shaky laugh. “When did you get so wise?”

Perth grinned. “Somewhere between feeding you at 3 a.m. and googling baby-safe snacks.”

Santa leaned his head on Perth’s shoulder, eyes half-closed. “I don’t wanna stop too soon. Maybe just until the choreos get too intense.”

“Then that’s the plan,” Perth said immediately. “No pressure, no timeline. You’ll know when it’s time to pause.”

They sat in silence again, the quiet kind that feels safe.

Santa could hear Perth’s heartbeat against his ear — steady, grounding.

“Perth,” he murmured. “You’re really not scared?”

Perth hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Terrified. But in the best way.”

Santa laughed softly. “Same.”

Perth kissed the top of his head. “We’ll figure it out, Santa. Step by step.”

And for once, Santa believed him.

Chapter Text

Santa had been pushing himself harder than ever. His schedule was packed, and despite the increasing fatigue and symptoms, he refused to slow down. He kept telling himself that it was temporary, that he could handle it, that he just needed to get through a little bit more work. But one fateful day, things took a turn.

Somewhere between the music and the adrenaline, he forgot. One spin too fast, a little too much effort — and then suddenly, something didn’t feel right.

His breath caught.

The world tilted for a second.

“Santa?” Joong’s voice came through, muffled. “You okay?”

Santa nodded automatically, but his hands were trembling. “I just need a sec—”. Santa felt a strange cramp in his lower abdomen. He tried to shake it off, focusing on getting through the final shots for the day. But the pain only intensified. And then, when he went to the bathroom, the world seemed to stop.

Santa stared at the blood in his pants, his heart pounding in his chest. His breath caught in his throat, and for the first time since finding out about the pregnancy, panic fully set in. He leaned against the bathroom sink, trying to steady himself, but his knees felt weak.

Santa whispering to himself, “No, no, no… this can’t be happening.” He grabbed his phone with shaking fingers and called the one person who always answered.

Perth picked up on the second ring. “Hey, love—”

“Perth,” Santa’s voice cracked. “Something’s wrong. I— Um there’s blood—”

“Where are you?” Perth’s tone changed instantly — calm but sharp, every syllable steady. “Talk to me, Santa. Where are you right now?”

“The studio,” Santa whispered. “I’m scared.”

“I’m coming,” Perth said without hesitation. “Don’t move, okay? Sit down. I’m on my way.”

He stumbled out of the bathroom, his face pale as he tried to walk back to the set, but his vision was blurry, and everything felt like it was spinning. He just needed to make it through the shoot, just needed to keep going, but the fear that gripped him was overwhelming.

Joong and Aou were already waiting for him outside the door, immediately noticed something was wrong. Seeing Santa’s pale face and the anxiety in their eyes. They rushed to his side with confusion and worry all over their faces.

“Santa, what happened? Are you okay?”

Santa’s hands shook as he held them up, trying to hide the bloodstains. His heart was racing, his mind spiraling with fear.

Santa’s voice trembles, “I… I don’t know. I just… I saw the blood, and I’m so scared.”

Their expression changed immediately. Pond grabbed his bag and said, “We’re going to the hospital, now.”

Everything blurred after that — the rush, the ride, the waiting room that felt like forever.

Perth arrived a few minutes later, eyes wild until he saw Santa sitting there, pale but safe. He dropped to his knees beside the bed and pulled him into a hug, tight and trembling.

Santa was taken in for immediate checks, and the doctor quickly confirmed that the bleeding was caused by stress and overexertion. It was a scare, but there was no immediate danger to the baby. However, the doctor made it very clear, Santa needed rest. Full rest.

When Santa heard those words, he felt both a sense of relief and guilt. He had pushed so hard, thinking he could manage, but this moment made it clear how much he had been neglecting his body—and his baby.

The doctor informed gently but firmly, “You need to take time off, Santa. No work. No stress. You’ve put yourself and your baby at risk by overdoing it. Your body is telling you to slow down.”

Santa swallowed hard, feeling a lump in his throat as the reality of what had happened finally hit him. He closed his eyes, clenching his fists, his chest tight with the pressure of the emotions flooding through him.

Santa quietly, almost choking on his words, “I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean for this to happen…”

Perth, who had been standing by the door, came over and sat beside him, taking Santa’s hand gently. The concern in his eyes hadn’t wavered, but now there was an overwhelming tenderness, as if he could feel the weight of Santa’s regret.

Perth tries to calm Santa down, “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re okay. We’ll get through this together.”

Santa’s breath hitched as he looked up at Perth, his heart aching with guilt. He had been so stubborn, refusing to slow down, even when Perth had reminded that he needs to take a break. But now, after everything that had happened, he realized just how much he had been taking for granted.

Santa's tears starts welling in his eyes, “I was so scared, Perth. What if something happened to the baby? I… I don’t know what I’d do.”

Perth, pulling him into a gentle embrace, “You don’t have to be afraid. The baby is strong, and you’re strong too. But you have to take care of yourself. I’m here with you. Always.”

Santa closed his eyes, leaning into Perth’s warmth. The overwhelming fear began to fade, replaced by a sense of safety he hadn’t felt in days. But there was still the weight of the guilt—the guilt for pushing himself too hard, for not listening to the people who cared about him, and for almost losing sight of what mattered most.

The Jasper boys were waiting outside the room, pacing like anxious parents. When the doctor came out and said the words “everything looks fine,” they collectively exhaled loud enough for the hallway to hear.

When Perth stepped out, they all looked at him.

“Santa and the baby okay?” Joong asked.

“They’re both okay,” Perth said. “But practice is off the table for a while.”

Pond nodded. “Got it. We’ll handle it.”

Perth gave a small, grateful smile. “Thanks. For being there.”

Aou crossed his arms but smiled back. “Always. That’s our Santa.”

Over the next few days, Santa took time off work. Perth took the lead in caring for him, gently nudging him to rest, and taking over all the tasks that Santa had once felt he had to do himself. The company was incredibly supportive, canceling or rescheduling everything they could to give Santa time to recover.

Santa had to learn, in these quiet moments of rest, how to lean on others and accept that it was okay to not be perfect. He realized that he had been so focused on being strong for everyone else, that he had forgotten to be strong for himself—and for his baby.

Santa lay curled on the couch under a soft blanket, hair a little messy, oversized hoodie swallowing his frame. Perth was in full hover mode — snacks within reach, water refilled every ten minutes, and the kind of protective energy that could probably power a small country.

“Perth,” Santa groaned softly, “you’ve checked on me like fifteen times in the last hour.”

“That’s impossible,” Perth said from the kitchen, pouring another glass of water. “It’s only been twelve.”

Santa giggled weakly. “You’re insane.”

Perth walked over, setting the glass beside him. “I’m attentive.”

“Overly.”

“Lovingly.”

Santa rolled his eyes but smiled. “Fine. Lovingly insane.”

He reached out, fingers curling around Perth’s wrist. “I really scared you, didn’t I?”

Perth’s expression softened, his voice lower now. “Yeah. But it’s okay now. You’re here, you’re safe, and that’s what matters.”

By the end of the week, Santa was feeling strong again — enough to sit through a short meeting. Jasper’s manager had been checking in, but now it was time for the talk.

“Are you sure?” Perth asked in the car, his hand resting protectively over Santa’s.

Santa nodded. “Yeah. I don’t want rumors or half-truths. I want to tell them myself.”

Perth smiled. “That’s my brave Tata.”

Inside the conference room, it was just Santa, Perth, Jasper’s manager, the PR team and the board. Santa took a breath, fingers unconsciously brushing his belly.

“I wanted to let you know something officially,” he began. “I’m expecting.”

There was a beat of surprise — then warmth.

His manager blinked, then smiled slowly. “So… that’s the glow we’ve been seeing.”

The PR head chuckled. “Congratulations. Both of you.”

Perth squeezed Santa’s hand under the table.

Santa looked relieved — he’d braced for concern, policy talk, maybe even pushback. Instead, there was nothing but kindness.

“We’ll adjust your schedule,” the manager continued gently. “When you’re ready, we’ll plan how to announce it properly. No pressure.”

“And if you’d rather keep it private for a while,” PR added, “we’ll make sure you have that space.”

Santa exhaled a laugh that trembled just a bit. “I… wasn’t expecting everyone to be so calm about it.”

Perth grinned. “See? I told you they’d be supportive.”

His manager smiled knowingly. “We’ve all seen how happy you’ve been lately. Honestly, we figured something was up.”

Aou, Joong, and Pond were waiting in the hall afterward — pretending to scroll their phones but clearly eavesdropping.

The second Santa stepped out smiling, Pond whooped. “Told you they’d take it well!”

Joong smirked. “I heard no tears, so that’s a win.”

Aou grinned. “So… baby shower planning soon?”

Perth laughed, shaking his head. “You three never stop.”

Santa smiled, leaning against him, whispering softly, “Guess I don’t have to hide anymore.”

Perth pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You never did.”

The news didn’t drop like a bomb — it floated in like sunlight.

The company decided to do it the GMMTV way — warm, gentle, and full of love.

The post appeared on their official account one morning, paired with a photo that made everyone stop scrolling for a second.

It wasn’t flashy. Santa and Perth stood together in front of the camera in their living room, a soft smile on their faces. Santa’s hand rested gently on his baby bump, which had started to show more visibly now.

GMMTV Official

Every season brings new beginnings.

Our PerthSanta is entering a new chapter of their life— one filled with love, laughter, and little footsteps. 💫

We ask everyone to continue supporting them with the same warmth you always have.

Thank you for growing with us. 🕊️

Within minutes, the comments section exploded — not with shock, but with pure joy.

“OH MY GOD SANTA AND PETH ARE GONNA BE A PARENTS?? 😭😭”

“They both deserve all the happiness in the world 🥺💖”

“Perth must be crying rn omg.”

“This announcement feels like a hug.”

Santa sat beside Perth on the couch when it dropped, watching the notifications pour in.

He covered his mouth, eyes wide. “They actually love it…”

Perth smirked, pretending to wipe a tear. “See? Told you the world’s ready for Baby Perthsanta.”

Santa laughed so hard he almost dropped his phone. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously proud,” Perth said, wrapping his arm around him. “You’re doing great babe.”

Santa leaned into him. “I was so scared, you know. That people would see me differently.”

Perth looked down at him with that steady, unshakable affection. “They do. They see someone strong enough to chase what he wants — even when it’s scary.”

Santa smiled softly. “You’re really good with words, you know that?”

“I had to be,” Perth teased, kissing his temple. “Otherwise, how was I supposed to convince you to be with me and make me a dad?”

Santa rolled his eyes, but his laughter was warm. “You didn’t convince me. You made me believe it was safe to want this.”

Outside, notifications were still flooding in.

Inside, it was quiet — the kind of peace that comes after finally being seen.

And somewhere in that quiet, Santa placed a hand over his belly, whispering so softly only Perth could hear,

“They already love you, little one.”

Perth smiled, his hand covering Santa’s. “Yeah. But not as much as we do.”

Chapter Text

Pregnancy glow? Sure.

Pregnancy cravings? Perth was starting to think they were a divine test.

It started with something mild.

Santa suddenly wanted mango sticky rice… at 2 a.m.

Perth, being the ever-devoted partner, drove halfway across Bangkok to find a shop still open. He came home triumphant — only for Santa to wrinkle his nose.

“…I don’t want mango sticky rice anymore.”

Perth blinked. “You literally texted me ‘urgent craving 😭’ five minutes ago.”

Santa shrugged, pouting. “The baby changed its mind.”

The next day, it got worse.

Santa wanted spicy ramen… but with ice cubes in it.

And a side of green apple slices dipped in condensed milk.

“Santa,” Perth said, watching him eat with a mix of awe and horror, “your taste buds are… in another dimension.”

“Don’t shame me,” Santa said between bites, glaring like a dragon guarding his ramen bowl. “The baby likes it.”

Perth raised an eyebrow. “The baby or you?”

Santa dramatically gasped. “Don’t insult us both like that.”

Later that week, the cravings evolved into an obsession.

Santa started carrying snacks everywhere — gummy bears in his pockets, sour plums in the car, even a small jar of peanut butter in his bag.

Perth discovered this mid-kiss when Santa suddenly pulled back.

“Wait— I need a spoon of peanut butter first.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Don’t question the process, Perth.”

At one point, Santa made Perth wake up to help him make grilled cheese with strawberry jam and chili flakes.

Perth took a bite — instantly regretted it — but Santa looked so proud he forced himself to chew and said, “Mmm. Michelin-star level.”

Santa beamed. “See? You get it.”

By week three of Craving Chaos™, Perth was a changed man.

He kept a “Snack Emergency Kit” in his car, knew which convenience stores restocked late-night desserts, and even learned how to make mango sticky rice himself (just in case).

One evening, Santa curled up beside him, satisfied after finishing his odd combination of pickled cucumbers and caramel popcorn.

Perth ran his fingers through his hair, amused. “You and the baby have strange teamwork, you know that?”

Santa smiled sleepily. “Yeah… but it’s our kind of strange.”

Perth kissed his forehead. “That it is. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Perth thought he was ready for the cravings, the moods, the sleepy days.

But he was not ready for this.

Santa had become clingier than a cat on laundry day.

If Perth stood up — Santa followed.

If Perth sat down — Santa was instantly on his lap.

If Perth even looked at his phone for too long — Santa squinted suspiciously like he was about to interrogate him on a crime show.

“Who’re you texting?”

“Work.”

“Work… or work with dimples?”

Perth burst out laughing. “Santa, you mean my co-star?”

Santa huffed and snuggled into him anyway. “She laughed too hard at your joke last time. Tell her to calm down.”

Perth was amused but also— lowkey flattered. “You’re so jealous lately.”

Santa looked up, dead serious. “I’m pregnant, not blind. Have you seen yourself?”

That shut Perth up.

It got funnier at the company.

Whenever Perth came by Jasper’s practice room, Santa suddenly turned from sleepy to territorial guardian mode.

Joong once tried to hug Perth hello, and Santa immediately slithered between them like, “Heyyy bestie, you can talk to him from there.”

Joong blinked. “Bro, I just said hi.”

“Yeah, and now you can say bye.”

Pond and Aou had to bite their lips not to laugh.

Later, when Perth teasingly brought it up, Santa groaned and hid his face in a pillow.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I see someone near you and my brain goes ‘MINE.’ Like a feral cat.”

Perth laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe. “You’re literally glowing with jealousy and you still look adorable.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Santa grumbled. “You just look extra sexy lately. I can’t help it.”

Perth smirked, leaning down until their foreheads touched. “Oh? Extra sexy, huh?”

Santa’s ears turned pink. “Don’t get cocky. It’s just hormones.”

Perth chuckled, brushing his thumb along Santa’s jaw. “If hormones make you love me this much, I’m not complaining.”

Santa tried to scowl but failed completely, whispering, “Shut up. Just stay here.”

And so Perth stayed — one arm around his ridiculously clingy, overprotective, and beautiful partner — quietly thanking the universe for this chaos.

The set was supposed to be calm today.

Keyword: supposed to.

Santa had shown up quietly at first — sunglasses, hoodie, snack bag in hand, pretending he was just there to “keep Perth company.” Like usual these days.

Everyone smiled, of course. He was Santa, everyone adored him. But ten minutes in, they realized the man wasn’t just visiting.

He was monitoring.

Perth was in the middle of filming a romantic scene — nothing wild, just a forehead touch and an “almost kiss” for the camera. But the second the director yelled “action!” Santa’s expression shifted like a storm cloud rolling in.

From the side of the set, Mark whispered to Fourth, “Bro, why does Santa look like he’s calculating murder?”

Tu snorted quietly. “That’s not jealousy, that’s Pregnancy Wrath.”

Meanwhile, Perth tried to stay professional. His co-star, Film leaned in for the scene, voice soft and emotional. Everything was going fine until—

“Cut!” the director called. “That was great, Perth, let’s go again but this time—”

Before he could finish, Santa suddenly appeared right next to Perth, offering a bottle of water.

“Here, babe. You look… thirsty.”

The director blinked. Film froze. Perth? Perth just pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to laugh.

“Thanks, love,” he said gently, taking the bottle. “We’re almost done, promise.”

Santa smiled sweetly. “Oh, I’m not rushing you. I’m just… observing.”

Film gave a polite little laugh, nervously glancing between them. “You two are adorable, by the way.”

“Yeah,” Santa said, still smiling. “We are.”

Perth had to gently guide him back to his chair before they resumed filming, whispering, “You’re scaring my co-star, baby.”

“I’m not scary,” Santa mumbled. “I’m just… a bit territorial. You look too good in that lighting.”

Later, when the scene finally wrapped, Film shyly approached Santa.

“I just wanted to say— I’m really sorry if the scene if the scene looked overboard or anything. It’s all acting,” she assured.

Santa blinked, immediately flustered. “Oh my God, no, I wasn’t— I mean, I know it’s just acting. I’m an actor too, I get it.”

Perth nearly choked on his laugh. “Baby, you’re terrifying and adorable at the same time.”

Santa crossed his arms, pouting. “I’m carrying your child, Perth. Give me a break.”

Perth wrapped an arm around his waist, kissing his cheek. “I honestly don’t mind. It’s kinda adorable and hot, you clingy monster.”

Santa huffed, hiding a smile. “You love it.”

“I do,” Perth whispered, brushing his nose against Santa’s temple. “Even when you almost scare off my co-stars.”

Santa smirked, whispering back, “Good. Keeps them in line.”

And just like that — the chaos settled, the set laughed, and Perth realized that even at his clingiest, Santa somehow managed to make the whole day brighter (and mildly terrifying for anyone within five feet).

Perth decided they needed a reset, a babymoon.

After a week of shooting, set gossip, and Santa giving his co-star the Death Stare™, it was time for air that didn’t smell like studio lights and iced coffee.

He drove them out of the city early on a Saturday, refusing to say where they were headed. Santa, half-asleep in the passenger seat, peeked up every ten minutes like,

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“How about now?”

When they finally arrived, it was a tiny seaside inn tucked behind palm trees, the kind of place that smelled like salt and pancakes.

Santa’s eyes lit up. “You kidnapped me to the beach?”

Perth grinned. “Legally, it’s a vacation.”

They spent the first hour walking barefoot on the sand. Santa kept stopping every few steps to collect shells, muttering about “baby’s first beach souvenir.” Perth just carried the growing pile, smiling like he’d been tricked into manual labor and didn’t mind one bit.

By noon, they’d ended up at a roadside café with tables made from driftwood. Santa demolished a plate of fried rice and half of Perth’s omelet.

“You said you weren’t hungry,” Perth teased.

“I wasn’t,” Santa said, already reaching for dessert. “The baby changed its mind.”

Perth laughed, snapping a photo before Santa could glare. “I’m printing this and calling it The Craving Chronicles.”

Later, back at the inn, they watched the sunset from the porch. Santa leaned into Perth’s shoulder, quiet for once. The waves were soft, the light golden enough to make everything feel like a music video.

“You know,” Santa murmured, “when I used to say I didn’t want kids, I thought it meant I wasn’t built for… peace like this.”

Perth squeezed his hand. “And now?”

“Now I think I just hadn’t met the person who made it feel safe.”

Perth smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You always make things sound like the end of a movie.”

“Then promise me,” Santa said softly, “no sad sequels.”

“Deal,” Perth said. “Only spin-offs with happier plotlines.”

They stayed like that long after the sun dropped, just listening to the ocean and the sound of their own little story settling into calm.

That night, Perth fell asleep with Santa tucked against him, the faint smell of sea salt in the air and the quiet realization that sometimes the best kind of getaway wasn’t to escape from the world—

it was just to remember what they’d built together.

Chapter Text

Time was moving fast.

One morning, Perth woke up and realized something had changed — not huge, not dramatic, but real.

Santa’s bump had started to be more visible.

Just slightly under his oversized tee, a gentle curve that made Perth stop mid-sentence and stare like he’d seen the universe wink at him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Santa asked, brushing his teeth.

Perth leaned on the doorframe, grinning like an idiot. “You’re… showing. Like, literally there’s a bump. You’ve leveled up in cuteness.”

Santa rolled his eyes, foam in his mouth. “I look like a potato.”

Perth laughed. “A premium potato. Like, Michelin-star level.”

Santa tried to glare but ended up laughing instead.

Everywhere they went, it was the same story — people noticed.

Stylists fussed over him more, the Jasper members wouldn’t stop cooing, and Sky and Nani started calling him “cutie mama” just to mess with him.

Even the twins, Neona and Smyle, had opinions.

Smyle pointed at Santa’s bump once and announced, “Baby hiding!”

Santa gasped dramatically. “How did you know??”

Smyle just nodded like he had ancient wisdom.

Perth, of course, was obsessed.

He started taking candid photos every day — Santa cooking, Santa dozing off, Santa tying his shoelaces (well, trying to). His camera roll turned into a baby bump documentary.

At first, Santa protested.

“Perth, stop taking pictures of me every second!”

“Can’t help it,” Perth said. “You’re literally the most adorable thing on Earth right now.”

When Santa pouted, Perth just leaned over and whispered, “You’re carrying our baby. You’re allowed to be the center of my universe.”

Santa melted on the spot.

One night, after visiting Jasper practice, Santa sat on the couch, one hand on his bump, humming softly.

Perth joined him, resting his head on Santa’s lap.

“You know,” Santa murmured, “I was scared I’d feel weird when my body started changing.”

“Do you?” Perth asked.

Santa smiled. “A little. But… every time I see how you look at me, I stop caring.”

Perth looked up, eyes soft. “That’s because I’m looking at the love of my life and our future at the same time.”

Santa blushed so hard he had to hide his face behind a pillow.

“Stop being so smooth!”

“Nope,” Perth said, grinning. “You started this whole being-cute-while-pregnant thing. I’m just keeping up.”

And when they finally fell asleep that night, Santa’s hand resting on his bump and Perth’s fingers laced with his, it felt like everything had slowed down — quiet, content, and full of tiny, happy beginnings.

It happened on a lazy Sunday afternoon — the kind where the world feels like it’s moving in slow motion.

Santa was curled up on the couch, half-watching a movie, half-napping on Perth’s chest.

Perth absentmindedly rubbed slow circles on his belly while scrolling his phone. It was peaceful.

Until Santa suddenly went still.

“Wait.”

Perth blinked. “What?”

Santa’s hand shot to his bump. “Perth— I think… I just felt something.”

They both froze. Perth gently placed his hand over Santa’s, holding his breath.

Then it happened — the tiniest, softest little thump beneath his palm.

Perth’s eyes went wide. “Oh my god.”

Santa’s voice cracked, a tear slipping out as he laughed. “That’s… that’s the baby, right?”

Perth was speechless, just nodding as his eyes filled up too. “Yeah… yeah, that’s our baby.”

They stayed like that, quiet, both laughing and crying at the same time.

Perth leaned down, pressing a kiss to Santa’s bump. “Hey there, little one,” he whispered. “You picked the perfect time to say hi.”

Santa sniffled, smiling. “I think the baby already has your timing.”

“Flawless?”

“Annoyingly dramatic.”

“…Okay, that’s fair.”

The clinic room was quiet except for the rhythmic whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of their baby’s heartbeat filling the air.

Perth’s hand was locked around Santa’s, thumb tracing lazy circles over his skin.

Santa’s eyes were glued to the screen, where a tiny shape wiggled like it was doing a mini dance. His heart melted instantly.

“Oh my god…” he whispered, smiling so wide it hurt. “They’re moving so much.”

The doctor chuckled. “Very active baby, this one.”

Perth leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Doctor, can you tell—”

Santa whipped his head around so fast it could’ve created wind.

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

Perth froze. “What? I just—”

Santa raised a finger. “No spoilers. None. Zip. Nada.”

The doctor tried not to laugh. “You don’t want to know the gender?”

Santa shook his head. “I want the surprise. The moment. The drama of it all.”

Perth pouted, clearly suffering. “But I need to plan things, babe! The colors, the names, the baby clothes—”

Santa cut in smoothly, “We already planned a color palette for a nursery that’s beige and white, don’t lie.”

Perth blinked. “…that’s gender neutral.”

“Exactly,” Santa said with smug satisfaction.

The doctor, trying not to snort, offered, “I can write it down and seal it in an envelope if you change your minds.”

Perth perked up. “Yes, please.”

Santa gave him a death stare. “Perth Tanapon, if you peek—”

Perth raised both hands in surrender. “I won’t! I promise!”

Then, muttering under his breath, “Probably.”

Santa smacked his arm playfully. “I heard that.”

When they left the clinic, Perth was holding the sealed envelope like it was radioactive.

Santa eyed it suspiciously the whole ride home.

“Don’t even think about it,” Santa warned.

Perth grinned, eyes on the road. “I’m not! I’m just… keeping it safe.”

“Uh-huh. In your pocket. Which you keep touching every two seconds.”

Perth laughed nervously. “Muscle memory.”

Santa sighed, dramatic as always. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Perth smirked, glancing at him. “You say that now, but when you find out I already know—”

“PERTH.”

Perth cracked up, steering with one hand and squeezing Santa’s knee with the other. “Kidding, kidding! I’ll wait. Promise.”

Santa side-eyed him. “You better. Because if you ruin this surprise, you’re sleeping in the nursery—with the beige walls.”

Perth groaned. “Not the beige walls.”

Santa smiled smugly. “Actions have consequences, daddy.”

Perth sat on the couch still holding the envelope like it contained the nuclear codes. Santa had made him swear, again, not to open it.

But now, with the ultrasound photo framed on the coffee table and the house calm and quiet, the tension was real.

Santa plopped down beside him, arms crossed.

“Stop staring at it. You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m not staring,” Perth lied, absolutely staring.

Santa raised a brow. “You’ve been doing it for twenty minutes. You look like you’re waiting for it to speak.”

Perth grinned. “What if I just guess? I have a feeling.”

Santa rolled his eyes. “You and your ‘feelings.’ Last time you had a feeling, you said the curry wasn’t spicy, and I nearly cried.”

“Okay but hear me out,” Perth said, turning fully toward him now, excitement creeping into his voice. “I think it’s a girl.”

Santa blinked. “A girl?”

“Yeah,” Perth said confidently. “She’s gonna have your smile, your sass, and she’s gonna bully me just like you do.”

Santa snorted, but a tiny smile tugged at his lips. “Sounds about right.”

“But,” Perth added, eyes glinting, “if it’s a boy, he’s gonna look like me — chill, handsome, and everyone’s problem.”

Santa smirked. “You mean he’s gonna be my problem.”

Perth chuckled. “Fair.”

They sat there for a moment before Santa said, “Fine. Let’s make it interesting.”

Perth leaned in. “A bet?”

“Yeah,” Santa said, pretending to think. “Loser does whatever the winner wants for a whole day. No complaints.”

Perth’s eyes lit up. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Deal.”

They shook hands dramatically, like CEOs closing a business merger.

The next morning, the bet had already escalated into madness.

Santa was buying gender-neutral clothes but labeling the bags in his head: girl vibes.

Perth kept humming “My Boy” every time he passed the nursery.

At breakfast, Santa pointed at his belly. “Baby kicked when I mentioned pink. That’s a sign.”

Perth raised a brow. “No, that’s because you were talking for twenty minutes straight.”

“Jealous I’m the favorite already?”

“Jealous? Please,” Perth said, kissing his cheek. “I’m the fun parent. I’ll win this.”

Santa laughed, shoving him lightly. “You’re delusional, Tanapon.”

Perth grinned, leaning close. “Delusional… or psychic?”

Santa gave him a flat look. “You couldn’t even predict I’d steal your fries last night.”

“That was betrayal, not intuition.”

Later, when they were lying in bed, Santa curled against Perth’s chest, his voice soft but teasing.

“You really think it’s a girl?”

“Yeah,” Perth murmured, kissing the top of his head. “Because if she’s anything like you… the world better prepare itself.”

Santa smiled, eyes fluttering closed. “Then I hope you’re ready for double trouble.”

Perth chuckled quietly. “I’ve been ready since the moment I met you.”

It was late — one of those slow nights where the world outside their windows felt miles away.

Perth and Santa sat cross-legged on the nursery floor, surrounded by tiny onesies, a half-built mobile, and the faint hum of the air-con.

The sealed envelope still sat on the shelf. Unopened.

Perth glanced at it again, sighing. “I keep thinking about that thing like it’s calling my name.”

Santa smirked. “You’d think you were being haunted by the ghost of curiosity.”

“Exactly,” Perth said, grinning. Then he paused, more quietly, “But… I’ve been thinking. Maybe it doesn’t matter, huh?”

Santa blinked. “What do you mean?”

Perth leaned back on his hands, looking up at the ceiling. “Girl, boy — I don’t care anymore. We’ll love them either way. I just want them to be healthy. And to have your smile.”

Santa’s chest tightened. He stared at Perth for a long moment, warmth blooming like sunlight under his ribs.

“Wow,” Santa whispered. “Look at you being all sentimental.”

Perth chuckled. “Don’t act surprised. You’re the reason I’m soft now.”

Santa shifted closer, leaning into him. “Good. Because I was thinking the same thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hm,” Santa nodded. “We waited so long for this. I don’t want to ruin it by obsessing about what’s inside that envelope. Whether it’s a little him or a little her… they’re already ours.”

Perth smiled, eyes gentle. “So we don’t open it?”

Santa reached for his hand. “We don’t open it.”

Perth took a deep breath and smiled, setting the envelope into a box labeled For Later. “Then we wait. And when the day comes, we’ll find out together.”

Santa rested his head on Perth’s shoulder. “It’ll be perfect.”

Perth kissed his hair softly. “It already is.”

For a while, they just sat there in the quiet — surrounded by baby clothes and pastel dreams, feeling the faint kick that reminded them that their little world was growing.

Perth placed his hand on Santa’s bump and whispered, “Hey, baby. Whoever you are… we can’t wait to meet you.”

Santa smiled sleepily. “And we’ll love you just the same.”

The lights outside the theater flashed like fireworks — camera shutters clicking, reporters shouting, fans screaming Perth’s name. It was the big premiere of his new movie, and everyone was expecting Perth to steal the night.

They just didn’t know Santa would too.

“Babe, you sure you’re okay?” Perth asked for maybe the tenth time, fussing with the hem of Santa’s blazer as if that would magically make him lighter.

Santa rolled his eyes fondly. “Perth, I’m pregnant, not porcelain.”

“Still,” Perth muttered, adjusting the corsage on Santa’s wrist, “porcelain’s easier to carry.”

Santa snorted. “You’re lucky I can’t bend down fast enough to kick you.”

He looked stunning though — soft cream suit, hand resting over his round bump that was now impossible to hide. The stylist had done a brilliant job balancing elegance with comfort, but the way Perth looked at him? Yeah, no designer could compete with that.

When they stepped out of the car, the crowd went wild. Perth helped Santa out first, ever the gentleman, but suddenly all the flashes turned their way.

“Oh my god, it’s Santa!”

“He’s glowing!”

“Look at them, they’re holding hands—”

Perth tried not to grin too hard, but he was failing spectacularly. He guided Santa down the carpet, hand steady on his back, the other holding his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Santa leaned close and whispered, “You know everyone’s staring because I’m stealing your spotlight, right?”

Perth laughed under his breath. “You mean our baby’s stealing my spotlight.”

“Well,” Santa said smugly, “that’s what you get for having the most popular duo on one carpet.”

Every time someone called out Perth’s name, he’d gently turn Santa toward the cameras too, making sure the flashes hit both of them. Fans could see it — the way he glanced down at Santa every few seconds, as if checking he was okay, as if the world around them didn’t exist.

And when one interviewer jokingly asked, “Who’s the real star tonight — you or the baby?”

Santa smiled, patting his bump. “Oh, definitely the baby. I’m just the glamorous packaging.”

Perth laughed so hard he nearly forgot he was on camera. “That’s a lie — they’re both the stars. I’m just… the guy carrying snacks and worries.”

The reporters melted. Literally melted.

When they finally made it inside, Santa sank into a seat with a sigh of relief.

“Okay, I take it back,” he said, fanning himself. “That was… a workout.”

Perth handed him water immediately. “Told you. But you handled it like a pro.”

Santa smiled, tired but glowing. “You’re proud, huh?”

Perth looked at him softly. “Always.”

As the lights dimmed and the movie started, Perth slipped his hand into Santa’s again, rubbing his thumb over the faint curve of his ring.

Santa leaned his head against Perth’s shoulder, whispering, “This baby’s first red carpet.”

Perth chuckled quietly. “And they already outshined me.”

Santa smirked sleepily. “Get used to it, movie star.”

Chapter Text

Santa should’ve known something was off the moment Perth woke him with breakfast in bed.

Perth never did that.

Not unless he wanted something.

Yet there he was, setting a plate beside Santa with the gentlest smile, brushing Santa’s fringe aside like he was made of glass.

Suspicious. Very suspicious.

Santa narrowed his eyes. “Why are you being extra sweet today?”

Perth froze for half a second before recovering.

“I’m always sweet.”

After that Perth ask Santa to get ready as he is taking him out.

Santa thought he was being kidnapped.

Not in a dramatic way. Just suspiciously inconvenienced.

Perth had insisted on an early morning drive—no explanation, no hints, only a casual “Wear something comfy” and “Trust me.” That alone was criminal. Then Perth took a turn Santa definitely didn’t recognize.

“Perth,” Santa said slowly from the passenger seat, one hand on his belly, the other gripping the seatbelt, “why are we entering… greenery.”

Perth didn’t even glance over. “Fresh air is good for you.”

“That’s what liars say.”

Perth smiled. Way too calmly.

By the time the car stopped, Santa still had no idea. Perth opened the door, helped him out gently—and that’s when Santa noticed the fairy lights above the trees, the white canopy peeking through flowers, the sound of laughter he recognized.

He took three steps forward.

And then—

“SURPRISEEEEEE!”

Santa froze.

Actually froze.

His brain short-circuited as familiar faces poured out from behind trees and picnic tables—GMMTV friends, managers, stylists, actors he’d just seen at work—and Jasper standing together like they’d been waiting their whole lives for this moment.

Joong was holding a balloon that immediately escaped his hand.

Pond was mid-clap and forgot how to stop.

Aou was already filming.

Sky and Nani stood front and center, smiling too proudly, with Smyle and Neona bouncing beside them like they’d been guarding a national secret.

Santa’s mouth opened.

Closed.

“…Perth.”

Perth held his hand instantly. “Breathe first.”

Santa laughed, emotional already. “You— you told everyone??”

“Everyone who loves you,” Perth said softly.

Smyle ran up first, hugging Santa’s leg. “We didn’t tell you!”

Neona nodded fiercely. “We were very sneaky.”

“You’re terrible liars,” Santa laughed, eyes wet.

The garden looked unreal—soft florals everywhere, pastel balloons tied to wooden chairs. A long table filled with gifts, neutral colors, little notes taped everywhere. Fairy lights crisscrossed above them like stars caught in the trees.

Santa felt dizzy—in the best way.

Jasper swarmed him immediately.

“We had to pretend we didn’t know for WEEKS,” Joong complained.

“Bro I almost slipped after practice,” Pond added.

Aou held his phone up. “You crying yet? I need it for memories.”

“You’re evil,” Santa laughed, hugging them one by one.

Perth guided Santa to a cushioned chair beneath the canopy. The twins immediately claimed positions on either side of him like royal guards.

When gift time came, Santa was already overwhelmed.

Joong approached first, puffing his chest out.

“We helped pick presents,” he said as if announcing national achievements while pointing at the table beside santa full of gifts.

He opened Joong’s first: three baby outfits in animal prints on them.

“Aesthetic,” Joong said. “The baby will stand out and also I don't know the gender.”

Santa laughed. 

Pond presented a baby carrier, holding it upside down. “I… don’t actually know how to use this but the reviews were good?”

Santa laughed harder.

Then Aou stepped forward, awkwardly holding a tiny knitted hat.

Santa’s breath hitched. “Aou… did you make this?”

Aou turned red instantly. “No. I found it.”

Behind him, Joong mouthed, he spent hours.

Santa’s chest tightened again.

“Okay,” Nani said brightly. “Our turn.”

Sky stepped forward with a grin that immediately made Santa wary.

Smyle and Neona dragged something behind them — not a box, but a large fabric-covered structure on wheels.

Santa frowned. “Why does it look… expensive?”

Neona gasped dramatically. “Because it IS.”

Smyle nodded. “Daddy Sky said, Very useful. Very wow.”

Sky cleared his throat. “We asked ourselves one question.”

Santa folded his arms. “This never ends well.”

Nani smiled sweetly. “What’s the one thing new parents think they’ll survive without?”

Santa opened his mouth.

Stopped.

“…Sleep,” he said quietly.

Sky snapped his fingers. “Bingo. But this does not relate to that.”

Smyle whipped off the fabric with the enthusiasm of a game show host.

Santa froze.

Perth leaned forward. “…That’s the—”

“Yes,” Sky said smugly. “That one.”

An expensive stroller that was on Santa's cart and pinterest board.

Nani added, “The kind you can open with one hand, steer with two fingers, collapse in five seconds, and push at three in the morning while questioning every life decision.”

Santa blinked at it.

Then whispered, “This is ridiculous.”

“And,” Sky continued, “it comes with—”

Smyle ran over and slapped a button.

A soft rocking motion started automatically.

Santa’s soul left his body.

Neona clasped her hands. “Baby goes zoom zoom sleep.”

Joong whistled low. “This thing costs more than my rent.”

Pond nodded. “Worth it.”

Aou crouched down, inspecting it. “I would nap in this.”

Perth laughed, half in shock. “You didn’t have to go this hard.”

Nani tilted her head. “We remember carrying twins, schedules, bags, milk, sanity hanging by a thread. This gives you mobility without losing your mind.”

Santa finally exhaled, hands moving instinctively to the handle like he already trusted it.

“…I was literally stressing about this last week,” he admitted.

Sky smirked. “That’s why we didn’t ask.”

Smyle tugged at Santa’s sleeve.

“Uncle Santa, can baby ride with me?”

Neona corrected, “No, dummy. Baby is SMALL.”

Santa laughed, warm and soft. “Maybe one day.”

He turned back to Sky and Nani, eyes shining.

“Thank you. Really. This… this helps.”

Nani stepped closer and squeezed his hand. “You’re doing great already. This is just backup.”

Perth wrapped an arm around Santa’s shoulders, proud and a little emotional. “Our baby already has better transport than I ever did.”

Sky nodded. “As it should.”

Smyle climbed into the stroller anyway.

Neona shouted, “HEY.”

Sky sighed. “And that’s your preview.”

Santa laughed, heart full, hand resting unconsciously on his bump.

Then Perth cleared his throat.

“There’s one last present,” he said calmly. “From me.”

Santa frowned. “I already know this is dangerous.”

Perth handed over a small, sleek black box. Not baby-themed. Heavy.

The second Santa opened it, the world slowed.

Inside lay a luxury watch—the kind you see in glass cases, guarded like treasure. The metal caught sunlight between the leaves. On the back, engraved:

To my love.

For every moment you’ve given—and every one waiting for us.

Santa stared.

Then looked up.

“You’re insane,” he whispered, crying and laughing at the same time. “Do you know that??”

Perth knelt in front of him. “I know you’d never buy it for yourself. And I know how much you give. This is for you.”

Silence fell.

Even Joong shut up.

Santa slipped it onto his wrist, hands shaking. Smyle pointed immediately.

“SHINY!”

Neona nodded seriously. “Baby approved.”

Santa laughed through tears, pulling Perth close by the collar. “Thank you. I love you so much it hurts.”

Perth kissed his forehead. “That’s my job now.”

Around them, friends clapped, Jasper cheered, Sky wiped his eyes, and Nani hugged the twins because he couldn’t deal.

Under open sky, surrounded by love he didn’t even realize was watching him, Santa held his stomach and smiled.

This wasn’t just a surprise.

It was a reminder:

He was never alone.

The baby shower had barely settled into comfortable chatter when Smyle and Neona decided the moment was now.

Not later.

Not tomorrow.

Not after snacks.

Now.

Santa had just lowered himself carefully onto a chair when the twins climbed onto it like tiny detectives preparing for a high-stakes investigation.

The afternoon sun spilled across Perth and Santa, warm and peaceful for approximately… twelve seconds.

Because Sky and Nani’s twins, Smyle and Neona, run towards them like two mini tornadoes with matching shoes and matching trouble in their eyes.

Santa didn’t stand a chance. Neona marched up and planted herself right in front of his belly, hands on her hips like a detective interrogating a suspect who refused to crack.

“Uncle Santa,” she said seriously, “is the baby swimming inside you or floating like jelly?”

Santa blinked. “Um… floating?”

Smyle let out a dramatic gasp and slapped a hand to his forehead, theatric enough for an Oscar.

“If she’s floating,” she’s whispered, horrified, “what if she spins too fast and gets dizzy?”

Santa bit back a laugh. “Baby won’t get dizzy.”

“You don’t know that,” Neona argued. “I get dizzy when I spin. So it can get dizzy too.”

Sky, already looking like he regretted every life decision that led him here, muttered to Nani, “Why do they ask like this? Who taught them to worry about centrifugal force?”

Nani sighed in defeat. “They learned the word ‘science’ last week.”

It showed.

Neona stepped closer, eyes narrowed like she didn’t trust Santa’s belly was even real. Before anyone could stop him, she poked his stomach with the decisive jab of someone ringing a doorbell.

“NEONA!” Nani snapped, grabbing her wrist. “Gentle touches, remember?”

“I WAS checking if the baby is awake!” Neona yelled back defensively.

“So you poke the baby like a doorbell?” Santa said, laughing.

“YES,” Neona answered confidently. “Ding dong, baby is home?”

Smyle, apparently inspired, pressed his ear to Santa’s stomach like he was trying to hear secret government messages.

“Baby?” He whispered softly. “It’s me. Smyle. Do you like me or Neona more?”

“HEY,” Neona screeched, offended. “Don’t steal the baby first friendship!”

“They can like both of you,” Santa tried.

Neona squinted suspiciously at her brother.

“Even if Smyle is super annoying?”

“NEONA!” Nani yelped.

Smyle gasped as though he’d been mortally wounded.

“Daddy, look at Neona!” He starts pouting.

Perth was in the corner trying so hard not to laugh that he had to bite his knuckle.

Santa? He was wheezing.

Sky? Sky had given up on parenting and simply sat on the armchair, staring into the void.

Neona, apparently not done tormenting the household, turned her attention to Perth.

“Uncle Perth,” she asked sweetly, “how did the baby get inside Uncle Santa?”

Perth froze. Blinked. Blinked again.

Santa coughed so hard he turned red.

Sky was on his feet in one second flat.

“OKAY. TIME TO GO. WE’RE DONE. THAT’S ENOUGH QUESTIONS FOR TODAY.”

“Nooooo!” Neona whined, clutching Santa’s leg like she was being dragged to jail. “I still have questions! Important ones!”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Sky insisted.

But fate was cruel.

Because as Nani grabbed their hands and pulled them toward the door, Neona twisted around and yelled:

“FINE! BUT WHEN THE BABY COMES OUT— DOES IT SLIDE OUT OR POP OUT??”

Santa collapsed into Perth’s shoulder laughing.

Perth made a noise somewhere between a groan and a prayer.

Sky looked like he aged thirty years.

Nani? She just muttered, “I need a nap. Or holy water.”

The door finally closed behind the feral duo, leaving the room in stunned silence.

Perth slumped onto the couch beside Santa.

“…You okay?” he asked, still in shock.

Santa wiped a tear from laughing too hard.

“I think… that was the most intense interview I’ve ever survived.”

Perth snorted.

“They’re too powerful. They must be stopped.”

Santa rested his head on Perth’s shoulder, a soft smile blooming on his face.

“Honestly,” he whispered, “it was kinda cute.”

Perth hummed. “Yeah… but next time, we’re putting helmets on.”

And somewhere down the hall, Sky could be heard yelling,

“NO MORE QUESTIONS ABOUT POPPING OUT— PLEASE!”

The baby shower was a success.

The perfect chaos.

The perfect toddlers.

The perfect soft moment hidden under all the mess.

Chapter Text

The nursery was quiet that night.

No more boxes to unpack, no more paint to dry, no more name debates. Everything was ready.

And yet, Santa couldn’t sleep.

He sat by the crib, hands resting over his bump, listening to the faint hum of the air purifier. The baby had been kicking less lately, slower movements — like even they were preparing for the big day.

Perth found him there a little past midnight.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re not in bed.”

Santa smiled faintly without turning around. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Perth walked over, crouching beside him. “You’re thinking again.”

Santa sighed, brushing his thumb along the crib rail. “I’m scared, Perth.”

Perth blinked, taken aback. “Of what?”

“Everything.” Santa let out a shaky laugh. “What if I’m not ready? What if something goes wrong? What if… I’m not a good parent?”

His voice cracked at the last word, and that broke Perth instantly.

Perth reached for his hand. “Hey, hey. Don’t do that to yourself.”

Santa finally looked at him, eyes glassy. “You make it all look easy, you know? You’re calm, grounded, perfect— and I’m over here panicking about diaper brands and wondering if the baby’s gonna like me.”

Perth smiled sadly, squeezing his hand. “You think I’m not scared too?”

Santa frowned. “You? You look fine.”

“That’s acting,” Perth said with a soft laugh. “I’m terrified. Every time I think about holding them for the first time, I can’t even breathe. But then I remember…” He paused, thumb brushing over Santa’s ring. “We’re doing this together. That’s what makes it okay.”

Santa leaned into his touch, voice small. “You really think I’ll be good at this?”

Perth tilted his head. “Santa, you’ve already been amazing. You’ve cared, planned, panicked, loved — that’s literally parenting.”

Santa gave a watery laugh. “You always know what to say.”

Perth stood, gently helping him up. “That’s my job. The emotional support husband.”

Santa let himself be pulled into Perth’s arms, head resting against his chest. He could feel Perth’s heartbeat, steady and sure, grounding him.

“I don’t know what’s waiting for us,” Santa murmured. “But I know I want it with you.”

Perth kissed the top of his head. “Then that’s all we need.”

They stood there a while — just holding each other, breathing in sync.

The future was terrifying, but it was also theirs.

And as the baby kicked gently, like a tiny reminder that life was coming whether they were ready or not, Santa smiled through his tears.

“Okay,” he whispered, hand over his bump. “We’re ready for you.”

Santa had been restless all morning.

He was pacing around the kitchen, one hand on his lower back, the other clutching a half-eaten mango.

Perth raised an eyebrow from the couch. “You’ve been walking in circles for ten minutes.”

Santa waved him off. “I’m fine. Just… stretching my hips.”

Perth squinted. “You’re grimacing.”

“I’m breathing.”

“Through your teeth?”

Santa froze mid-step, clutching the counter as another dull ache rolled through his stomach. He tried to play it cool, inhaling sharply. “It’s fine. Just Braxton Hicks. Practice ones.”

Perth sat up. “You sure?”

Santa nodded too quickly. “Totally sure.”

(He was absolutely not sure.)

An hour later, he was on the couch, one hand pressed over his bump, face scrunched up as another wave hit.

Perth peeked over his script. “That didn’t look like practice.”

Santa glared weakly. “You’re not a doctor.”

“I don’t need to be when you’re gripping the couch like it owes you money.”

Santa huffed. “It’s too early. The due date’s still a week away. It’s just my body… pretending.”

Perth got up and crouched beside him, voice soft but serious. “Babe, I think your body’s done pretending.”

Santa tried to argue, but then another contraction hit — sharper, deeper this time — and his words turned into a groan.

Perth’s eyes widened. “Okay, that’s it. We’re calling the doctor.”

Santa shook his head stubbornly. “No, no, no, it’s fine. I just need to—”

He stopped mid-sentence, gripping Perth’s sleeve, breath coming short.

Perth held his hand, calm but his voice had that edge of panic only love brings.

“Santa.”

Santa opened his mouth to argue—

Pop.

Both of them froze.

Santa blinked. “…What was that?”

Perth blinked back. “Did you just—?”

Santa looked down.

And then, in horror, looked at the growing wet spot on the floor.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “That didn’t just happen.”

Perth shot up. “Your water just broke, didn’t it?”

Santa, staring blankly, muttered, “It’s not water. It’s… probably just—uh—”

Perth: “—amniotic fluid?”

Santa: “…Yeah okay fine it’s water.”

Perth was already grabbing the hospital bag. “Alright, no more denial, superstar. We’re going.”

Santa still tried to stand with fake calm. “Okay okay, don’t panic. I’m fine.”

Then he winced. “Okay, not fine. Definitely not fine.”

Perth rushed back, helping him up with one arm around his waist. “You sure you’re ready?”

Santa laughed breathlessly, clinging to him. “Do I look ready?!”

Perth pressed a kiss to his forehead. “No. But I am.”

Santa gave a shaky smile. “Liar.”

“Absolutely,” Perth grinned. “Now let’s go have a baby.”

The car ride felt like a fever dream — a mix of chaos, contractions, and Perth’s nervous driving that would’ve made the headlines if anyone saw them.

By the time they reached the hospital, Santa was gripping Perth’s arm like it was a lifeline.

“Babe, breathe,” Perth said, parking a little too fast.

“I am breathing!” Santa snapped. “You’re the one hyperventilating—”

He paused, winced, and squeezed Perth’s hand again. “Okay, okay, maybe I’m also hyperventilating.”

Inside the hospital, the nurse recognized them instantly. “Oh! Santa—”

“Hi yes hi—labor, maybe,” Santa blurted, half-bowing while breathing through another contraction. “Please don’t ask for selfies right now.”

They got him settled in a labor room quickly. Perth hovered by his side, his face switching between awe, panic, and total devotion.

The doctor arrived, calm and smiling.

“Let’s check how far along you are, okay?”

Santa nodded, clutching Perth’s hand. “I feel like the baby’s coming now, I swear it’s like—five, six centimeters at least!”

A pause.

Then the doctor said gently, “You’re at two centimeters.”

Silence.

Santa blinked. “Two.”

Perth blinked too. “As in… two out of ten?”

“Correct,” the doctor said cheerfully.

Santa groaned, collapsing back onto the bed. “You’re telling me I’ve been doing all this Oscar-worthy pain acting for two centimeters?!”

Perth tried not to laugh and failed miserably. “You’re doing great, babe. Like, award-winning great.”

Santa glared. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not! You’re literally my hero right now.”

Santa squinted at him suspiciously, but Perth just brushed the hair out of his face and kissed his forehead.

The doctor smiled softly. “You’re still early, Santa. It might take some time, but everything looks good so far. Baby’s heartbeat is strong.”

That made Santa’s annoyance melt immediately.

He squeezed Perth’s hand again, eyes soft. “Strong?”

“Very strong,” the doctor said.

Perth looked down at Santa, grinning. “Just like you.”

Santa rolled his eyes, pretending to be unimpressed — but he couldn’t hide his smile.

“Ugh. You’re lucky I love you,” he mumbled.

“I know,” Perth said, kissing his knuckles. “Now let’s get this two-centimeter situation moving, yeah?”

Hours crawled by.

The clock on the wall might as well have been mocking them — ticking way too slowly for Santa’s liking.

The contractions were stronger now, sharper. His whole body tensed every time one hit, and Perth was right there beside him, holding his hand like it was the only thing keeping them both anchored.

“Breathe, babe,” Perth whispered, rubbing his back in slow circles.

“I am breathing,” Santa hissed through clenched teeth. “Stop telling me to breathe, I know how to breathe.”

Perth nodded quickly. “Right. No breathing advice. Just moral support.”

Santa shot him a glare between gasps. “You’re too calm. Why are you calm?”

“I’m not calm!” Perth insisted. “I’m terrified! I just don’t wanna freak you out.”

“Well, it’s not working!” Santa groaned as another contraction built up. “You existing is freaking me out!”

Perth bit his lip to stop from laughing. “You’re doing amazing, okay? You’re literally a superhero right now.”

Santa dropped his head back against the pillow, sweating. “Superheroes don’t cry, Perth!”

Another wave hit, and Santa squeezed Perth’s hand so hard he swore he heard something pop.

“Okay, ow ow ow—okay, still good, still fine!” Perth said through gritted teeth.

Santa’s voice cracked mid-contraction. “Whose idea was this again?!”

Perth hesitated. “Technically yours.”

Santa glared so hard Perth nearly apologized to the universe. “Then I want a refund.”

“You—you can’t return a baby, Santa.”

“I don’t mean the baby! I mean—” Santa groaned again, squeezing harder, “—this process! You owe me for this! Big time!”

Perth leaned closer, wiping the sweat from Santa’s forehead. “You can have anything you want, okay? New car, new house, name it.”

Santa panted, glaring. “I’m naming the baby.”

Perth grinned softly despite the chaos. “I’ll take it.”

Another contraction hit, and Santa grabbed his shirt, forehead pressed against Perth’s chest.

“I can’t believe I volunteered for this,” he muttered, half crying, half laughing. “You better treat me like royalty after this.”

“Already do,” Perth murmured, kissing the top of his head.

Santa exhaled shakily. “No. I mean more. Like, golden throne, foot rubs, ice cream for life.”

Perth chuckled, brushing his fingers through Santa’s hair. “Done. Anything, everything. Just focus on breathing, love.”

Santa took a deep breath, shaking his head. “You owe me so much.”

Perth smiled. “I’ll spend forever paying it back.”

And even through the pain, Santa managed a small, tired grin — because he knew Perth meant every word.

The hours blurred together.

The contractions hit harder, closer, sharper — like waves that wouldn’t stop crashing.

Santa’s breathing grew ragged, and his grip on Perth’s hand turned desperate. He was trying to be strong — he’d promised himself he could do this — but now every muscle trembled.

When the next contraction slammed into him, Santa broke. Tears welled in his eyes before he could stop them.

“Perth—” His voice cracked. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

Perth’s heart shattered instantly. He wiped at Santa’s tears with shaking hands. “Hey, hey, look at me. You are doing it. You’re incredible.”

Santa shook his head, crying harder. “No, I— it hurts too much, I can’t—please, make it stop.”

Perth cupped his face, forehead pressed to his. “Okay. Okay, we’ll talk to the doctor. You don’t have to prove anything, okay? You’re already the bravest person I’ve ever seen.”

The nurse came back in right on cue, checking Santa’s progress.

Santa tried to keep his composure, but his voice broke mid-sentence. “Can I—can I please have the epidural now?”

The nurse nodded gently. “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s get you some relief.”

Perth kissed Santa’s hand while they prepped him, whispering quietly:

“Hey. It’s okay to ask for help. You’ve done so much already. You’ve been strong for both of us.”

Santa sniffled, voice shaking. “You’re not gonna think less of me?”

Perth laughed softly — half-choked, half-teary. “Less of you? Baby, you’re creating life. You could ask for a golden throne right now, and I’d go build one.”

That made Santa crack a weak laugh through the tears, his whole body trembling.

When the epidural was finally done, he melted back into the bed, chest rising and falling with relief.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, tears still wet on his cheeks. “It’s… it’s bearable now. I can breathe.”

Perth brushed his thumb under Santa’s eyes. “See? You’re okay. We’re okay.”

Santa gave a tired, crooked smile. “You’re still not off the hook, though. You still owe me for this.”

Perth grinned. “Fair. I’ll start repaying you the second that baby’s in your arms.”

Santa reached for his hand again, their fingers intertwining — tighter this time, calmer now.

For the first time in hours, he let himself relax, whispering softly, “Thank you for not leaving my side.”

Perth leaned down, kissing his forehead. “Never have, never will.”

And for a moment, the room was quiet — just the sound of Santa’s soft breaths, the steady beeping of the monitor, and the warmth of Perth’s hand holding his like an anchor.

Chapter Text

Hours later, the calm didn’t last.

Santa’s soft breathing grew shallow again, his hand clutching Perth’s like a lifeline. The epidural had dulled the pain, but the pressure — the intensity — was building again, stronger and faster.

The doctor checked him, glanced up, and smiled. “Alright, Santa. You’re fully dilated. It’s time.”

Santa froze. “Time? Time as in—now-now?”

“Now-now,” the doctor confirmed gently. “Your baby’s ready to meet you.”

Perth’s heart skipped several beats. He turned to Santa, eyes wide. “Babe, did you hear that?”

Santa shot him a trembling look. “I heard it. I’m just pretending I didn’t.”

Perth laughed weakly, brushing his thumb over Santa’s knuckles. “You got this, okay? I’m right here.”

The room suddenly shifted into motion — nurses adjusting monitors, the doctor giving calm, practiced instructions. The steady beeps of the machines mixed with the sound of controlled breathing and soft encouragement.

“Okay, Santa, on the next contraction, I want you to push, alright?”

Santa nodded, taking a deep breath. His voice wavered. “I’m scared.”

Perth leaned close, voice barely above a whisper. “I know. But you’re not alone.”

The first push hit hard. Santa’s whole body trembled; he gritted his teeth, a low sound escaping him.

“Good job, Santa, that’s it! Deep breaths, push again—” the nurse coached.

Perth held his hand so tight his own knuckles went white. “You’re doing amazing, love. You’re so strong.”

Santa’s eyes were glassy, his voice breaking between pushes. “Perth… it hurts… I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. You’re already doing it,” Perth said, his voice thick with tears he couldn’t stop anymore.

Santa let out another broken cry, forehead pressed to Perth’s arm. “You better never complain about anything again after this!”

Perth laughed through tears. “Deal! I’ll do the dishes forever!”

Time blurred again — a rhythm of breathing, coaching, pushing.

Santa’s voice wavered between determination and exhaustion, but he never let go of Perth’s hand.

“You’re almost there, Santa,” the doctor said, smiling. “One more big push.”

Santa closed his eyes, gathering every ounce of strength left. Perth leaned down, forehead against his.

“Let’s meet our baby,” he whispered.

The final push left Santa trembling, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a scream. Then—silence.

A beat later came a tiny, piercing cry that split the room open.

Santa’s eyes flew wide. The doctor smiled and said softly, “Congratulations… it’s a girl.”

Everything in Santa cracked at once. He started crying—not from pain now, but from pure, dizzying relief. “A girl?” he whispered, voice shaking.

Perth’s hand was already at his cheek, wiping tears he didn’t even realize were there. “A girl,” he echoed, laughter tangled with tears.

They placed the newborn, still wailing and perfect, against Santa’s chest. He stared at her like the world had suddenly gone quiet just for them. “Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered, sobbing again. “You’re really here.”

Perth leaned over them, one hand covering both of theirs. His voice cracked. “She’s beautiful… and so loud.”

Santa laughed through his tears. “Just like her dad.”

The doctor and nurses moved softly around them, giving them space. Perth bent to kiss Santa’s temple, whispering, “You did it, love. You did it.”

Santa smiled weakly, eyes never leaving the little face pressed against him. “She’s everything, Perth. Absolutely everything.”

The world outside the hospital room kept moving, but inside it was quiet—soft lights, steady heartbeats, and the tiniest sounds of a newborn sighing in her sleep.

Santa sat propped against the pillows, a blanket tucked around him, their daughter resting on his chest. Her fingers flexed and curled like she was testing out life.

Perth sat on the edge of the bed, chin resting on his hand, just looking. He’d filmed entire dramas, walked red carpets, faced flashing cameras—but he’d never seen anything that felt this unreal.

“She’s actually ours,” he said quietly.

Santa nodded, eyes glossy. “I keep thinking that too. Like… how was she even inside me?”

He gave a shaky laugh, brushing one fingertip across her soft hair. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Perth smiled. “You did something impossible and made it look beautiful.”

Santa looked down again, the laughter fading into something tender. “I didn’t think I could love anything this much,” he whispered. “It’s terrifying. Like my heart’s outside my body now.”

Perth leaned closer, wrapping an arm around both of them. “Guess we both have the same heart now,” he said.

Their daughter let out a tiny squeak, the kind that instantly silenced them. They both laughed softly, holding still until she settled again.

Santa tilted his head toward Perth, whispering, “You see that? She already runs the show.”

Perth pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Just like her papa.”

For a long time they said nothing else. Just the rhythm of breathing, the warmth of three heartbeats syncing up, and that strange, quiet awe that only happens the first time you realize your family is real.

For a while they just listened to her tiny breaths. Then Perth whispered, “We still haven’t said her name out loud.”

Santa smiled tiredly. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

Perth turned to look at him. “You have one?”

He nodded, brushing a finger across the baby’s cheek. “Ployrin Sukumpantanasan."

“That’s… actually really pretty.”

Santa, currently rocking their newborn like she owes him rent, hums. “I told you. Elegant. Jewel name. Very ‘my daughter owns the room’ vibes.”

The baby lets out a tiny noise. Not a cry. Just a sound.

“Do… mi… ia,” Santa murmurs without thinking, swaying a little.

Perth freezes. “Did you just—”

Santa blinks. Looks down at the baby. Says it again, softer. “Domiia.”

The baby stops fussing.

Perth narrows his eyes. “Absolutely not. We just agreed on Ployrin right?”

Santa smirks. “Relax. That’s her real name. This is her nickname.”

Perth crosses his arms. “Why Domiia.”

Santa shrugs, fully unserious. “It fits. Also she looks like a Domiia.”

“She looks like a dumpling.”

“A very cute dumpling,” Santa corrects. “With main-character energy.”

The baby yawns, tiny fist curling into Santa’s shirt.

Santa grins. “See? She likes it.”

Perth sighs, defeated already. “You realize no one in this family is ever going to call her Ployrin, right?”

Santa beams. “I know, baby.”

Perth leans in, brushing his thumb over their daughter’s cheek. “Fine. Legal name Ployrin. Nickname Domiia.”

He pauses, softer now. “…Mia for short?”

Santa looks up at him, eyes warm. “Dom when she’s being dramatic.”

The baby makes another tiny sound, somewhere between a sigh and a complaint.

Perth chuckles. “Yeah. She’s definitely ours.”

And just like that, it’s settled.

Ployrin Sukumpantanasan on paper.

Domiia everywhere that matters.

Perth blinked. “Domiia,” he repeated slowly, as if testing the shape of it. They stayed like that—two exhausted, overjoyed parents, one brand-new life between them—letting the name settle in the air like a promise.

The hospital room was quiet, save for the soft hum of machines and the tiny, rhythmic breathing of the newborn nestled in Santa’s arms. Perth sat right beside him, one hand gently stroking Domiia’s little head, the other holding Santa’s like it was his lifeline.

A soft knock came before the door opened — and both their moms peeked in, faces glowing like sunshine.

“Can we come in?” Perth’s mom asked, though she was already halfway through the door.

Santa’s mom laughed softly, carrying a small bouquet and a stuffed bunny. “We brought gifts for our newest grandbaby.”

Santa looked up, tired but radiant. “Of course. Come meet her.”

The two mothers approached slowly, their voices dropping into whispers like they’d just stepped into sacred ground. Perth gently lifted Domiia from Santa’s arms, supporting her tiny form as he turned so they could see.

“This,” Perth said softly, pride shining through every word, “is Ployrin Sukumpantanasan but Domiia for her nickname.”

Both moms gasped. Perth’s mom covered her mouth, eyes filling instantly. “Oh… she’s perfect. Look at her little nose! It’s just like Santa’s.”

Santa’s mom sniffled, wiping her tears with the tissue she’d already been clutching. “She’s beautiful. You both did so well. My baby had a baby…”

Santa smiled faintly, still dazed from everything, and whispered, “I can’t believe she’s real.”

Perth’s mom leaned over, carefully touching Domiia’s tiny hand. “She’s got Perth’s fingers. Oh, she’s going to break hearts.”

Perth chuckled softly. “Not if Santa has anything to say about that.”

“Damn right,” Santa muttered under his breath, earning a laugh from everyone.

Their moms looked at them with that special kind of pride only parents could have — the kind that said we watched you grow up, and now you’ve created something beautiful of your own.

Santa’s mom kissed his forehead. “You’ve always been stubborn, Santa. But I’ve never been more proud of you for fighting this hard — for your dream, your family.”

Perth’s mom nodded, smiling through her tears. “And you,” she said to Perth, “I can see it in your eyes. You’re already the best father she could ask for.”

Perth’s throat tightened. “I just… I want to make sure she and Santa never doubt how loved they are.”

The two moms looked at each other — and then both started tearing up again, completely unashamed.

Santa laughed, voice hoarse but happy. “You’re both going to spoil her rotten, aren’t you?”

“Obviously,” they said in perfect unison.

And as Domiia stirred, making a tiny sound that melted every heart in the room, Perth leaned closer to Santa, whispering,

“Guess she already knows she’s surrounded by love.”

Santa smiled, tired eyes gleaming. “Yeah. She really is.”

Later the same day, the hospital room door slid open with zero subtlety.

“HELLOOO, UNCLES IN THE BUILDING!” Joong’s voice announced before his head even appeared.

Santa nearly jumped, clutching baby Domiia protectively. “Joong, shh! She’s sleeping!”

Joong froze mid-pose, hands up. “Sorry! Sorry! I forgot babies don’t have noise-canceling.”

Aou and Pond came in right after, both carrying an absurd amount of gifts — one had a diaper cake, the other a bouquet made of tiny baby socks.

Perth looked up from where he was fixing Santa’s pillow, amused. “You guys look like you robbed a baby store.”

Pond smirked. “Correction — we bought out a baby store. Our maknae deserves only the best.”

Santa chuckled weakly. “You guys didn’t have to—”

“Shhh,” Aou interrupted, gently waving a finger. “You gave us a niece. This is literally the bare minimum.”

Joong leaned over the bassinet, his expression instantly softening as he saw baby Domiia. “Oh my god… she’s so small. Look at her tiny hands.”

Aou grinned. “She’s already prettier than Perth. Sorry, bro.”

Perth snorted. “I’m not even offended. Facts are facts.”

Pond nudged Santa lightly. “So, Mama Santa how’s it feel?”

Santa blinked down at Domiia, his voice soft. “Weird. Wonderful. Scary. All of it.”

Joong smiled warmly. “You used to whine about dance practice being hard. Look at you now, raising a whole human.”

Santa giggled, eyes glassy. “Yeah, I guess I really grew up, huh?”

“Grew up?” Pond teased. “You’re still the baby of the group — just with your own baby now.”

Santa rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide the proud smile tugging at his lips. “Guess that makes you guys uncles, huh?”

“The best uncles,” Aou declared, puffing his chest. “We already made a schedule — one of us babysits every week.”

Perth’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, you made a schedule?”

Joong pulled out his phone, dead serious. “Color-coded. Pond’s in charge of snacks, I’m in charge of lullabies, and Aou’s in charge of preventing Santa from panic-buying baby clothes at 3 a.m.”

Santa pouted. “That was one time!”

Perth laughed, sliding an arm around Santa’s shoulders. “She’s got four chaotic uncles and one tired dad. Perfect balance.”

Domiia stirred softly, letting out a tiny sigh that made all four of them melt on the spot.

Joong whispered, “She’s got your nose, Santa.”

Santa smiled down at her, voice trembling just a bit. “Yeah… she’s everything I didn’t know I wanted.”

The hyungs exchanged a look — that proud, emotional, slightly teasing one they’d worn since their debut days — and Joong whispered,

“You did good, maknae. You did really good.”

Santa was settling, Domiia tucked against his chest, impossibly small, impossibly warm. He still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that she was real. That she had been inside him. That she was here now, blinking slowly at the world like she was already judging it.

Then they hear kids voices echoing in the hallway.

Perth froze. Santa lifted his head slightly.

“…They’re here.”

A sudden burst of energy at the doorway made Santa’s heart leap — the unmistakable chaos of little feet running at full speed.

“UNCAAAA SANTAAAAA!” Smyle shouted, barreling into the room, his little sneakers squeaking on the floor, with Neona close behind, trying to keep up.

Sky hurried after them, doing his best to manage the chaos, while Nani carried a small basket of gifts. “Girls and boys, calm down, please!” He called.

“LOOK AT HER! SHE’S SO TINY!” Neona squealed, rushing to Domiia’s bassinet where Perth just laid her down in.

Smyle poked the blanket cautiously. “Is she awake? Does she like me yet?”

Santa chuckled softly, eyes brimming with tears. “She already loves you both.”

Perth leaned over and whispered, “Careful… she’s delicate.”

But the twins were unstoppable. They circled the bassinet like tiny, curious satellites, inspecting every finger, every toe, every feature.

Nani carefully set everything down. “Okay. Before the kids go feral — gifts first.”

Santa blinked. “You didn’t have to—”

“We absolutely did,” Sky said firmly. “Because nobody warns you how much stuff you suddenly need.”

Nani handed over the first item: a high-quality baby carrier, structured but soft, clearly researched within an inch of its life.

“This one,” Nani said, “supports your back, distributes weight evenly, and doesn’t destroy your spine. I used it with the twins.”

Perth’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god.”

Santa clutched it like treasure. “This is… actually perfect.”

Next came a nighttime essentials basket — diapers, wipes, nipple cream, burp cloths, extra onesies, and snacks specifically labeled for Santa.

Sky cleared his throat. “The rule is: never make the recovering parent choose between feeding the baby and feeding themselves.”

Santa’s eyes burned. “I love you guys.”

Then Nani pulled out the last item: a white noise machine + baby monitor set. “This saved our lives,” he said calmly. “Trust me.”

Meanwhile, the twins had been vibrating in place, barely restrained.

Neona finally leaned in, whisper-shouting, “Why she looks like a potato?"

Sky gasped. “NEONA.”

“But a cute potato,” she added quickly. “Like a princess potato.”

Smyle nodded solemnly. “She’s very serious. I think she’s thinking.”

Domiia chose that exact moment to yawn, tiny mouth stretching impossibly wide.

Smyle screamed silently.

“SHE ROARED.”

Santa laughed softly, the sound still a little shaky from exhaustion and love. “She’s very brave.”

Smyle reached out one careful finger and touched Domiia’s hand.

“She grabbed me,” he whispered, eyes wide. “She likes me.”

Neona puffed up immediately. “She has to like me too. I’m older.”

“You’re older by THREE minutes,” Smyle shot back.

Sky rubbed his temples. “Why are they like this.”

Nani smiled, watching Santa adjust Domiia instinctively, every movement careful, practiced now. “You’re doing really well,” he said gently. “I know it doesn’t feel like it. But you are.”

Santa swallowed. “I still can’t believe I did this.”

Perth’s hand slid into his. “You didn’t do it alone.”

Smyle suddenly looked up at Perth, deadly serious.

“Uncle Perth.”

“Yes?” he answered.

“You have to protect them both.”

Perth didn’t joke this time. He nodded. “I know.”

The room softened.

The twins sat quietly for a full thirty seconds — a miracle — just watching the baby breathe.

Then Smyle whispered, “Can we come again tomorrow?”

Sky laughed tiredly. “Let’s… not traumatize them daily.”

Santa smiled anyway. “You’re always welcome.”

And as the afternoon light filtered in, Domiia slept on — surrounded by love, chaos, and the loudest family she would ever know.

Perfect.